


Running In Circles (Drawn To You)

by burninglights



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, National Women's Soccer League, Quinntana Week, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3980239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninglights/pseuds/burninglights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York Flash is a second-rate soccer club teetering close to bankruptcy and struggling to stay in the National women's soccer league. It certainly can't afford to pay the exorbitant transfer fee for Santana Lopez, who is unfortunately not nearly as talented as she is beautiful. Her place on the team severely threatened, Quinn Fabray angrily accuses Santana of sleeping with the club manager and inevitably starts a tempestuous, passionate love-hate relationship between the two women that threatens to tear them (and the club) apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Quinn eyed Santana Lopez with thinly veiled contempt. The slim, dark-haired woman tilted her chin and met the glare with her trademark smirk. 

Large full-color pictures of Santana’s admittedly rather attractive face and figure had accompanied a simpering article in the local newspaper that Quinn suspected was written by a smitten pot-bellied pervert who knew nothing about soccer. Anyone with half a brain would know that this sorry excuse of a woman wasn't worth a single cent. Clearly the manager lacked even _that_ , because he had paid the ridiculously high transfer fee and got her on the first plane ride into New York even before the ink on the contracts had time to dry.

Seeing as she was the only other attacking midfielder on the team barring Sally Oates, the team captain, who was in the pink of health and unlikely to be substituted, it was clear that this woman had been brought in to replace her. She had worked her butt off for three years to cement her position in the starting lineup, and now this young upstart was going to saunter in and snatch it away despite the fact that she was quite possibly lousier than Quinn had ever been. Even while recovering from a torn ligament. At age eight. Alright, so that wasn't entirely true. Quinn didn't care. All she wanted to do was bash the woman's face in. 

It didn't make any sense at all. Their club was teetering so close to bankruptcy that their players had gone three months without drawing a single paycheque. The aforementioned idiotic (but filthy rich) manager was single-handedly keeping it afloat by paying the bills out of his own pocket. Well, whatever the reason, Quinn was determined to go down with a fight. She had been having a brilliant season, second in assists only to Joanne Handler, Washington Spirit's golden-girl. 

For the next four hours of training, Quinn ran herself to the ground and played so intensely during the practice matches that even Hannah, who usually attracted exasperated calls from teammates to "calm the fuck down", stared at her like she had grown to heads and a moustache. 

...

They were playing an away match against Boston Breakers the next day, and Quinn unhappily noted the change in their usual formation in order to accommodate all three attacking midfielders. In other words, Santana was playing. She grit her teeth and forced herself to clear her mind. If they were going to lose, it was going to be because Santana played and not because she was too busy being pissed off to play properly. 

Sally Oates gave both Santana and Quinn a reassuring smile as they jogged towards the centre of the pitch together, taking their places behind the two strikers, Laurie and Yolanda. 

When the whistle went off, Sally passed the ball to Quinn and sprinted up the field, shouting for the rest of the team to move up. Quinn dodged an incoming defender and lobbed the ball high overhead so that it landed just in front of Laurie, the central striker. Laurie skipped past another defender and shouted frantically for backup. Santana weaved in from the left wing and got the ball from her. She then proceeded to drive the ball low and hard towards the goalpost, surprising the goalkeeper into action. She dived for good measure, but the ball went just wide of the posts. Quinn suppressed the urge to upbraid Santana for selfish play – she’d seen a chance and took it. _There was nothing wrong with that,_ the blonde reminded herself vehemently.

Thirty minutes into the game, Quinn found herself with a real chance at goal. She had snatched the ball away from a fumbling centre back by chance, and succeeded in dribbling into the penalty area. She shielded the ball with her body and scanned the box for backup. Taking a sharp left turn to avoid two defenders converging on her, she then back-heeled the ball to Laurie, who tapped it into the goal. Laurie pumped her fists in the air and enveloped Quinn in a bear hug. The rest of the team dashed in to celebrate. Feeling cocky as she walked back to the halfway line, Quinn shot Santana a smug smile and muttered, “ _that’s_ how we do it here, Lopez.” Santana gritted her teeth and looked away, clearly pissed off.

When the final whistle blew, Quinn had scored one goal and assisted the other two for a final score of 3-1 to the home side. Today’s match had only served to cement the fact that she was on top of her game. Let the newspapers say whatever they want, Quinn thought grimly, numbers don’t lie, and she was determined to make them speak for her.

...

The team skipped back into the changing room, chattering excitedly about dinner plans and arguing about who would get to use the showers first. Quinn collapsed on the bench, and slowly worked off her cleats. Vivian Mason, the goalkeeper, Quinn’s third favorite person on the team, did the same beside her. “Can’t join y’all for dinner tonight. Parents want to have dinner.” Vivian pulled off her gloves and grinned. “They want me to drop by and get some roasted chicken from the supermarket, but I’m so damn hungry I don’t think the poor bird is going to make it to the dinner table in one piece.”

Quinn smiled. “You could always buy two of ‘em. Your parents wouldn’t know any different.” They laughed and settled into their usual banter.

After a couple of minutes, Vivian had finished packing everything into her duffel bag and waved her hand in farewell. “I’ll shower at home. See you tomorrow!” Quinn looked up in panic. _That left her...alone in the changing room with Santana Lopez with no one to prevent her from strangling the woman to death._

When she noticed the hard glint in the brunette’s brown eyes, she realized that she might not be the only one with murderous intentions. 

Santana walked casually across the room, closing the distance between them with long, confident strides. She stopped right in front of Quinn and glared down at her. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to play good soccer. I can’t do that with you constantly breathing down my neck.” 

Quinn shrugged, trying to suppress the anger, jealousy, and insecurity that had began to surface. “So go ahead and play good soccer, goddammit.” She lost the battle for self-control. “But that shit out there today – _that_ was your idea of good soccer?”

Santana narrowed her eyes and leaned in so close that Quinn could feel her hot breath on her face. “Get off my back, Fabray. I’m only going to say this once.”

“On exactly _whose_ authority are you threatening me with?” Quinn breathed, her tone taking on a sharp edge, “Because I doubt a rookie with a grand total of ninety minutes of play-time in this club has any leverage behind her threats.” Her voice dropped to a low, harsh whisper. “That is, unless she’s sleeping with the manager." Santana's eyes widened, but Quinn was too far in to stop now. "After all, how would someone of your miserable caliber even qualify for-”

Before she can go any further, Santana has grabbed her collar and dragged her to her feet. Her eyes are blazing with fury. “You know _nothing_ about me. Don’t you _dare_ insinuate that my success was bought with sex.” 

Quinn shoved Santana off roughly. “Struck a little too close to home, did I?” She asked coldly, refusing back down despite the twinge of guilt already coiling at the base of her stomach. She knew had no right to make these baseless accusations, especially at a woman she barely knew. But she definitely wasn't about to apologise. Santana looked as though she were going to slap her, but stepped back just as she heard voices drawing closer. Karen, Laurie, and Yolanda had finished showering and entered the changing room together, still chattering about the game. Shooting Quinn a final glare, Santana grabbed her towel and stormed into the showering area without another word.

Karen wrinkled her nose, confused. “What the heck is wrong with her?” She asked, jerking a thumb at the door. Quinn shrugged and disappeared into the showering area after Santana. Laurie frowned, but did not comment. Dinner that night took place at Paolo’s, an Italian restaurant downtown. Quinn left the dinner and returned to her apartment early, and spent a sleepless night debating whether or not to apologize. Santana spent an equally sleepless night thinking along remarkably similar lines. Vivian, on the other hand, collapsed into bed at eleven after an incredibly enjoyable evening. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next day just before training, Quinn and Santana exchanged soft, awkward glances in the changing room, and both knew that it was the closest the other party would come to apologizing. Quinn decided that she still hated Santana’s guts, but purely because she was a cocky bastard who was about to steal her job – who she slept with was none of her business.

After training, Coach Johnson pulled her aside. “The manager wants you in his office in half an hour,” she said in a low voice. Quinn felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. That _bastard._ Previous magnanimous attempts to stay clear of unfounded accusations flew out of the window. _She was totally sleeping with him. And what’s more, she'd gone and snitched on her. That was what this was about, wasn’t it?_

In her three years of employment at Brampton, Quinn had only ever seen players come out of that office with tears in their eyes and there was no reason for her to think that her fate would be any different. Especially since she had clearly made enemies with someone who clearly had the manager wrapped around her goddamn pinky.  

Quinn stuffed her things into her duffel bag, chucked it on the bench, and slammed the locker shut. Laurie frowned for the second time in as many days. “Hey,” Laurie laid a gentle, calming hand on the blonde’s shoulder. Her voice was soft and reassuring. “What’s wrong?”

Quinn forced down a sob and glared down at her cleats. “What’s _wrong_?” She choked. “They’ve been siphoning off my pay –your pay, everybody’s pay– to buy _her._ ” She shot a dirty look at Santana. “To replace me."

Laurie frowned. "That's not true, Q, and you know it. Why the heck would they be sacking you _now?_ You've been having an absolutely amazing season!" 

Quinn sneered. "Well, apparently that doesn't matter. Manager asked to see me in his office. I think he’s going to give me the sack today.” 

Laurie frowned. “But  _why_?" 

“I have absolutely no idea,” Quinn said, giving Santana a very pointed glare. The brunette, who was previously minding her own business at the other end of the changing room, narrowed her eyes. 

“What is it this time?” She snapped, standing up and advancing towards them. "What did I do wrong _this_ time?" Laurie glanced nervously at Quinn and shrugged. The rest of the team finally caught on that something was happening and looked on at the three of them, confusion and exasperation apparent on their faces.

“Alright, what the hell is going on?” Sally Oates sighed wearily. “Do I have to get into this? Please say no because I have enough on my plate as it is.”

There was a stony silence as Santana and Quinn glared at each other from across the room. Finally, Quinn shook her head and said quietly, “I’m heading out.” The team watched her go, still clueless. When the door had finally shut behind her, everyone turned to Santana.

Sally turned to Santana. “Look, Lopez – I have nothing against you, but Fabray clearly does. I want to know what the hell is going on between you two before this toxicity leaks onto the pitch.”

Santana rolled her eyes bitterly. “Yeah, pick on the new girl, make slurs about her looks, who she’s having sex with…I thought I graduated from high school two years ago. Apparently not.” She too grabbed her things and swept out of the room. Sally clenched her jaw. The rest of the team stared at their captain. Nobody spoke to Sally Oates like that and expected to get away with it, no matter what the reason.

Sally walked out of the changing room. “Santana.” The brunette turned around to face her. “I’m sorry if you feel that you haven’t been made welcome in our team.” Sally paused and decided to be absolutely frank with Santana. Her voice softened. “I like you, Lopez. You have talent. But you’ve gotta learn how to work with Quinn. Like it or not, you two are going to form the backbone of the team one day.” She paused to let that sink in, then continued in a more brisk and business-like tone.“I don’t know what this is about, and I’m not even going to _try_ to understand. Get over it or you’ll have me to deal with. And for the record, don’t you _ever_ speak to me like that in front of the team ever again.”

Santana nodded. Satisfied, the captain turned and walked back to the changing room. 

...

Quinn, meanwhile, made her slow, painful progress down the corridor towards the manager's large oak office, her mind racing at a hundred miles per minute. She tried to churn up some cheerful, optimistic thoughts. Well...Being kicked out of the club wasn’t a _complete_ disaster, at least not for all parties involved - her parents, for one, would be very happy. They had never liked the idea of their daughter playing soccer professionally, and took every family gathering as an opportunity to voice their obvious disdain for what they considered a “hooligan sport”. If they had any say in the matter, this “talk” she was going to have with the manager would probably have happened a lot sooner. Heck, if they had any say in the matter, she would be locked up at home married to some pot-bellied middle-aged man with two beautiful blonde kids and a third on the way. 

But she loved playing soccer. She couldn't imagine life without it. Well, there were always other clubs, Quinn thought grimly. The manager would at least be decent enough to try and find a club that would take her. After all, the transfer window was still open and the club could save some much-needed money by selling her away instead of merely sacking her. Right...? Knuckles white, she knocked on the door and braced herself for the worst.  _  
_

“Come in,” came Mr. Lancôme’s unmistakable drawl. Quinn pushed open the door and walked in. She was surprised to notice Coach Johnson occupying the high, hard-backed chair next to him. The manager waved her toward the seat opposite them. His steely grey eyes gave nothing away.

“You’re probably wondering what this is all about,” he said, crossing his arms around his chest. Quinn gripped the edge of her seat and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The lump in her throat was growing larger by the minute. She wished desperately that they would just get on with it. The wait was killing her.

“For goodness sake, it’s good news. Wipe that terrified look off your face, it’s totally killing the mood.” Quinn gaped at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't any words out. Embarrassed, she shut her mouth and smiled shakily at him, unable to believe her ears. He rolled his eyes and continued. “We’re thinking of promoting you to captain. As you know, Sally Oates will be leaving us in a month.” _No, she did not know. How the heck would she know?! The management never deigned to tell the players anything. Santana had just appeared in their locker room one day without so much as an introduction._ Mr. Lancôme caught the blank look on her face and had the decency to look apologetic. “Ah right, I forgot. I believe Sally Oates wanted to keep the matter private. The press doesn’t know about it yet, and neither do the rest of the players, I think. Anyway,” He cleared his throat and ploughed on. “Coach Johnson will run you through your duties and then we'll talk about the specifics.”

Quinn shook her head in disbelief. “Wait... _What?_ Why me? I- I mean, I’m not _complaining_ or anything, but don’t you think that this is a little sudden..?” _I came in here expecting to be fired, goddammit._  

Mr. Lancôme glanced at Coach Johnson. “You are ready,” she said flatly, offering no further explanation to this shocking turn of events. Quinn wrung her hands in exasperation. The coach sighed. “We think that you’ve grown to become the anchor for this team – both on the pitch and off it. Sally is leaving. You’re the next best option.”

Quinn blushed and stared down at the table. It was more praise than she had ever received from Coach Johnson in the past three years combined. “Oh. Um...So you were going to run me through my duties...?” She asked, changing the subject. 

The Coach looked relieved now that they were back in familiar territory. She began to rattle a long list of obligations, rules, and expectations. Quinn listened to everything with a slightly dazed expression on her face until Mr. Lancôme took pity on her and said softly, “Alright Maude, I think we can fill her in on the rest of it later.” Coach Johnson nodded and fell silent.

Mr. Lancôme turned back to Quinn. “We'll arrange to pass you the captain's armband at a later date. You will officially become the team captain as of next Monday, but we will expect you to step up immediately. And er... As per club regulations, your pay will be increased by 25%.” He said this so reluctantly that Quinn felt slightly sorry for him – after all, he was paying the expenses with his own money. Then she remembered that she hadn’t been paid in months and the small amount of sympathy she felt for him just seconds ago evaporated immediately.  

“Seeing as I’ve been paid exactly zero dollars for the past three months, I suppose a 25% increase in pay would make my monthly salary...let’s see...exactly zero dollars still. Very generous terms,” She said dryly, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. To her immense relief, the manager just laughed sheepishly and assured her that once some ‘financial stuff’ was settled, all the players would be paid everything that was owed to them and hopefully more.

“As the new captain of the team, I’m holding you to that,” Quinn said, grinning slightly. She was feeling pretty good right now. Brave enough to risk asking something else... “So – that new midfielder you bought: she’s not going to replace me?” Leaving the _other_ question, the question that would undoubtedly get her fired just seconds after she had been promoted, for another time. Maybe when she was eighty and ready to die. 

Coach Johnson rolled her eyes. “For goodness sake, Quinn, are you dumb? Why the heck would we be sacking you _now_? You’re having the best damn season of your life!” Quinn noted dryly that these were the exact same words Laurie had told her in the changing room half an hour ago. “We’re replacing _Sally._ And not because we felt like it – she gave us so little notice that we had to pay a ridiculous fee for any midfielder that came along.” _That explained things,_ Quinn thought sheepishly. _She really owed Santana an apology, dammit._ The coach glared at her. “Any more inane questions?” She snapped.

Quinn shook her head. Mr. Lancôme clapped his hands together. “Alright then. We’ll go out and tell the rest of the team now.”

“Huh?” Quinn stared at him stupidly. “About er…about this?” 

“Any other announcements you have in mind?” Mr. Lancôme asked, a slightly bemused expression on his face. Then his smile disappeared and he looked worriedly at her. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

“No!” Quinn frowned. “Er – we're going to do it  _now_?”

Mr. Lancôme looked baffled. “When else would you suggest, Ms. Fabray? The next solar eclipse?” Quinn couldn’t help but laugh. Three years into the job, and she was still surprised that despite his dull fashion sense, her manager had an acerbic wit that not many people gave him credit for. He snapped his fingers and stood up, straightening his suit. “Let’s go,” He said impatiently. 

The three of them walked out of the office towards the changing room together. Quinn felt her heartbeat pick up for the second time that day. She found herself hoping desperately that her teammates would take the news well. She had no idea what to expect. Cheers? Jeers? A flurry of resignation letters?

They entered the changing room. The entire team was still there, although three of them were halfway through the other exit. They spotted the coach and manager, gasped, and hurriedly turned around. They returned to their original seats on the bench and waited for someone to explain to them what the heck was going on. Sally quietly stood up and took her place beside the three of them. Mr. Lancôme glanced at her, and she nodded.

“I’m leaving,” She said bluntly. “I can’t tell you why right now, but I will. In time.” There was a stunned silence as the team took in this piece of news. Sally’s eyes welled up with tears. Her teammates stared at her in shock. Sally H. Oates, about to _cry_? She would never live this down. “I’ve had an absolutely wonderful eight years with Brampton, my first and only. Don’t you _dare_ destroy the club name. Doesn’t matter where I am. I will come and personally whip the shit out of all of you.” The team broke into laughter and sobbing. Everyone got to their feet and mobbed her.

“Now, y’all will probably be wondering who my replacement is,” Sally said once her teammates had finally disentangled themselves from her – “I personally couldn’t have asked for anybody better.” She smiled at Quinn, who blushed as eighteen pairs of eyes turned to her in shock and amazement. After a few seconds, the room once again broke out into cheers and whistles. 

Quinn heaved a sigh of relief and grinned at them all. No resignation letters, thank God. The manager and the coach added a few sentences apiece and then left them to it. Everyone started talking at once. They wanted to know when Quinn had known, what she planned to do, whether she was happy. They tried to get Sally to tell them why she was leaving, when she was leaving and whether she would be back, but the only answer she gave them was, “I’m leaving next next Tuesday.”

The only person who didn’t seem very happy about the turn of affairs was Santana, and Quinn didn’t blame her. After all, the woman probably thought she hated her, and now that she was captain, Santana probably thought her days on the team were numbered. Quinn crossed the room to where Santana was standing silently. Santana’s eyes narrowed warily. “Outside,” said Quinn softly. The team turned to see both of them go, noise dying down a bit.

Someone shouted, “Jesus, Santana, you’re pretty damn popular with the captains, aren’t you?” 

...

They turned to face each other once they had shut the door behind them. “So?” Santana asked warily, folding her arms across her chest. “Here to gloat?”

“No, nothing like that.” Quinn took a deep breath. Her gaze met Santana’s, and once she’d stripped away her prejudice, her blind and irrational hatred, it was as though she were seeing her new teammate for the first time. A small tingle went down her spine. She saw _herself_ in those brown eyes – the same pride and vulnerability, the same hidden fragility buried deep beneath layers of ice. “I – I just wanted to apologize. I’ve been an absolute bitch, and-” 

“Yes, you have been.” Santana interjected, nodding smugly.

Quinn glared at her, but couldn’t suppress a smile from creeping up her face. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Hell no,” Santana said, smiling too. It struck Quinn that this was probably the first time she had ever seen her smile. For some reason, it made her heart flutter nervously.

She looked down at her feet. “I – I said some things that were- unforgivable. But here I am, standing here asking you to forgive me anyway.” Quinn bit her lip. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had apologized to anyone. Santana somehow sensed this, and her demeanor softened.

“Well, I admit I wasn’t any better, Fabray.” Santana held out her hand. “Friends?”

Quinn quirked an eyebrow at the outstretched palm. “We’ll see about that, Lopez.”

Santana punched her in the arm. “Acquaintances aren’t nearly as rude as you are, Quinn. There’s a stage of formal politeness that we never really got to. Which makes us…”  

Quinn smiled. “Frenemies?”

Santana grinned and held out her hand once more. “Frenemies,” she agreed. Quinn shook on it. They walked back into the changing room together. “So-” Santana said in a low, cheeky whisper, “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

Quinn laughed. “You forget that as captain, I can have you on the floor doing push-ups any time you piss me off.”

Santana frowned, the cocky smirk slipping off her face. “Really?”

“Mmhmm,” Quinn nodded, enjoying the first taste of her own power. This was going to be an amazing season indeed. “Try me.” 


	3. Chapter 3

The next month passed in a blur of activity. Sally Oates eased out of her duties and began to walk Quinn through hers. Coach Johnson was, as usual, right – Quinn was a natural captain, perhaps as good or better than Sally herself. She was smart, tough, and self-assured. It seemed as though her new role as the captain of the team complemented her role on the pitch perfectly. She directed play, distributed the ball, executed perfect passes to the right people, commanded her team into the spaces in between the opposing team’s defenses and ripped them into shreds.

The newspapers were right about one thing – Santana’s entry into New York Flash had indeed marked the start of a vast and profound change to the dynamics of the team that certainly did turn their fortunes around. In a matter of weeks, the club had climbed four spots and was no longer at risk of relegation. In fact, Coach Johnson had confided privately to Quinn that she hoped that by the end of the season, they would be ranked among the top three in the league for the first time in the club's short and rather un-illustrious history.  

After a particularly grueling match against a strong team currently ranked third in the league (they drew, 1-1), most of the team had taken a quick shower and left for home. When Quinn came out of the showers, the only person left in the changing room was Santana. The brunette had already finished packing all her things and was, for some reason, hanging about awkwardly. She turned around when she saw Quinn come in.

“What’re you doing for dinner tonight?” The words were out of Santana’s mouth before she could regret them. 

Quinn raised her eyebrows, smirking. “Are you asking me out, Lopez?”

For some reason, Santana blushed, stared down at her feet and mumbled, “N-no, I was just asking.” Quinn frowned. She had expected a well-planned joke, a cocky smile, anything but awkward and –God forbid, _genuine -_ Santana. She didn’t press, however.

“No plans.” She said gently, surprising herself. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Are _you_ asking me out, Fabray?” Santana asked, the trademark cockiness back in her voice.

Quinn rolled her eyes. “If that’s what you want to think, then yes. I’ve got some leftovers at my house.” She laughed at the face Santana made. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. You’ll like it, I think. Pasta with pesto sauce or something like that – Luke brought it over the last time he came over.”

Quinn noticed Santana stiffening slightly. “Luke?”

“He once thought he had a shot at dating me,” Quinn explained, wondering why it was any of Santana’s business. “I disabused him of the notion last week.”

Santana nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Alright then. Leftovers at your house it is. I’ll follow behind you in my own car. Don’t lose me, I have no idea where you live.”

“I can’t believe I’m inviting you to my house,” Quinn whined, shaking her head as they both walked out to the carpark together. “What happened to being frenemies?”

Santana shrugged nonchalantly. “I could go in and insult your house, your cooking, and your taste in furniture, if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” Quinn said, laughing.

...

Santana, as it turns out, has nothing but good things to say about Quinn’s house, cooking, and taste in furniture. The apartment was small but tastefully designed in a modern chic style that looked like it came right out of a magazine. The pasta had clearly been rather expensive, and still tasted good despite being refrigerated for a day. In the absence of things to insult, Santana rounded on a potted plant by the door. "The plant is withering," Santana pointed out. "Must be something to do with its daily close proximity to a foul, toxic creature."

"Shut up, Santana." Quinn said, smiling slightly.

"What? I take my duties very seriously," Santana sniffed.

They kept up comfortable conversation and light banter throughout the meal, and although Quinn never imagined that she would one day be sitting beside Santana without feeling an uncontrollable urge to strangle her, she had to admit that she genuinely enjoyed the other woman’s company.

They both settled back against the sofa when they were done, sighing contentedly. “Thanks for the meal, Quinn.” 

“No problem. We could- ” Quinn felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks. “We could do this again, if you want.”

Santana grinned. “Next time we can have leftovers at _my_ house.”

“Mm, I imagine you have a crowd of guys lining up to win your heart one expensive dinner at a time. Before you invite me over, be sure to hint to one of them that you like sushi.” Quinn suggested, already licking her lips in anticipation. 

Santana laughed. “Quinn, I’m gay.” 

Quinn did a double take, but recovered quickly. If Santana noticed her surprise, she didn’t show it. “Crowd of girls, then. Home-cooked food, even better. Any of them Japanese?”

Santana raised a finger in mock outrage. “First of all, that’s sexist. Not all girls cook, and they certainly shouldn’t be expected to.” She raised another finger. “Second of all, my future girlfriends cook the food _I_ like. Sushi has nothing to do with anything at all.”

Quinn rolled her eyes and muttered, “And what do we have here? Another stereotypical feminist soccer-playing lesbian.”

“I heard that,” Santana said. They sat there talking about all sorts of ridiculous things before Santana announced that it was about time she headed back. It was eleven p.m. and there was training the next day. Quinn nodded, but couldn’t stop a slightly disappointed expression from slipping across her face. Santana noticed it and smirked. "Admit it, Fabray," She teased, her voice low and flirty, "You enjoy my company, don't you?" 

"About as much as one enjoys the antics of a wild chimpanzee when one visits the zoo," Quinn scoffs, turning away quickly before Santana can see her turn slightly pink. Santana laughs, gets up and takes the plates to the kitchen.

Quinn followed her in. Santana had placed the plates in the sink and, to Quinn’s shock, picked up a sponge and actually started soaping them.“Er, Santana? What are you doing?”

Santana rolled her eyes. “I’m too busy washing the dishes to answer stupid questions.”

Quinn walked over and stopped next to her. She picked up the soapy plates and rinsed them under running water. Santana finished the soaping moments later. She hip-checked Quinn out of the way and stuck her hands under the tap, spraying soapy water everywhere. Quinn spluttered and stared down at the wet patches on her clothes. “Don’t be a wimp, Fabray. It’ll dry.” Santana scoffed. “I’ll be off now! See ya tomorrow!” Before Quinn could say anything, Santana had already flounced out of the kitchen. There was a click as the door shut behind her and minutes later, Quinn heard the rev of an engine as Santana started the car and reversed out of her driveway. She shook her head and finished the dishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was pretty fun to write. Anyways, spoiler alert: There's good times (a.k.a. a kiss) coming up in the next chapter, just sayin' :) It's nothing much, really, but it's still a kiss. So.


	4. Chapter 4

Three days later, the stands were, for the first time in months, half-filled with people who appeared to be there at least partially for the soccer (and not merely to ogle hot women). The team was playing at home against a slightly-weakened second-ranked Washington City. Although two of WC’s key players were injured and out-of-action, the odds were still 1/11 in its favor. It was encouraging to know just how much faith people had in them, Quinn thought wryly.

Their only major supporter happened to be the same author who had penned the gushingly enthusiastic article on Santana’s transfer – the author Quinn had accused of being a balding, pot-bellied, middle-aged pervert who knew nothing about soccer not too long ago. He had put in an encouraging piece the day before about not underestimating the underdog team.

Of course, he hadn’t been able to resist boasting about the fact that he had predicted the resurrection of the dying team thanks to a certain brunette midfielder and had put in a few sentences yet again about that particular midfielder’s ‘stunning good looks’. But Quinn had to admit that despite those glaring irritations, the article did contain some astute observations about the new formation they had recently adopted to accommodate Santana and how it had subtly changed the team’s dynamics and playing style.

Grudgingly, she admitted that there was a possibility that the sports-columnist was a balding, pot-bellied, middle-aged pervert who knew a little bit about soccer.

Still, apart from the aforementioned sports columnist, everyone else was expecting a good, solid thrashing. The bets weren’t on whether they would lose. They were on how badly they would lose. Quinn felt an involuntary shiver shoot down her spine as she led her team into the dugouts for the first time.

  
She didn’t want the first match she played as the official captain of the New York Flash to be a complete and utter disaster. She would never live it down, and besides, it certainly wouldn’t be a particularly auspicious start to this new chapter in her soccer career. She bit her lip nervously and adjusted the captain’s armband on her upper-arm. The fingers on her right arm were already starting to feel slightly numb, and she wondered if it was a case of nerves and over-active imagination, or whether she had strapped on the armband too tightly.

The team jogged down the steps after Quinn. Vivian, who was standing right behind her, patted her gently on the shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “Calm down, Fabray. No one’s going to blame you if we lose.”

Quinn glared at her fiercely. “We’re not going to lose.”

Vivian laughed and raised her hands in mock surrender. “I know, I know, but I’m just saying. There’s no pressure or anything, I mean – no one expects us to win-”

“I do,” Quinn snapped.

Vivian grinned and shook her head. “Yes Capt. Sorry.”

Quinn looked at her sternly, then broke into her first genuine smile of the day. “Now that’s better.” She turned back to address the team. “Alright guys, everyone out there in the stands thinks we’re going to be crushed. Decimated. Ripped apart. Heck, you might be thinking the same thing. Well, I’ll admit it. One month ago we wouldn’t have stood a chance against them. But we’ve come a long way since then. We’re stronger, faster, leaner. We’re on top of our game. We’re on fire. God help them.” At this, the rest of the team let out an ear-splitting cry of agreement.

“Let’s go!” Quinn yelled, charging out of the dugouts.

Right from the start, Quinn felt as though something was different. Not in a bad way – in fact, they were playing so astoundingly well that she found herself trying to figure out what the hell they were doing right. They were running circles around Washington City, slamming in shot after shot at their goalkeeper, who, unfortunately, was also having a frustratingly good game today.

Quinn received a brilliant back-heel pass from Santana and lobbed it over to Laurie, who smashed it at the goal only to have it parried away. It was Santana, she realized. They had finally found a way to read each other and the effect was absolutely stunning.

At the eighty-ninth minute, Yolanda dispossessed the opposing left back and sprinted up the field, shouting for backup. Quinn was beside her in seconds. When she got the ball, two Washington City defenders rounded on her and tried to cut her off. She spun around on her heel and flicked it quickly to Santana, who had already come in on her right.

Quinn sprinted up the field alongside her, until both of them were standing right outside the penalty box. Before Quinn had so much as opened her mouth, Santana delivered the ball to her feet with pinpoint accuracy. She dodged around another defender and came face to face with the goalkeeper. The keeper pre-empted her strike and dove just as she brought her right foot down – except that Quinn wasn’t aiming for the goal. Instead, she had flicked it cheekily to the right, where Laurie was lurking. Laurie connected with the ball with a powerful left boot and sent it flying into the top left corner of the goalpost. The keeper, already sprawled on the ground, could only watch in dismay as the ball sailed over her head and into the back of the net.

The team cheered and pulled Laurie, Santana, Yolanda and Quinn into a massive group hug. Even Vivian did a little victory jig in their goal at the opposite end of the field. In a matter of minutes, they returned to their changing room to celebrate the first glorious win over a major club. The victory was an important one, tying them up at 6th place. Just two spots higher and they would make club history, as embarrassing as that sounded. With plans set for a celebratory dinner and drinks the next day, the team finally parted at 8:30 p.m., still buzzing from the surprise victory.

Santana stopped next to Quinn. “So…Is it too late for dinner at my place tonight as planned?”

“Are you kidding? I accused you of being many things, Santana Lopez. But never a prude.” Quinn grinned. “In which universe is 8:30 p.m. considered late?”

Santana laughed. Quinn stopped in her tracks and stared. Santana frowned. “What is it?” She asked.

Quinn shook her head. “Nothing. I’ve just – never heard your laugh before.” She paused awkwardly and stared down at her feet, busying herself with packing her cleats away. “It sounds nice,” She muttered defensively. “You should do it more often.”

Santana laughed again. “Duly, noted, Capt.”

When they reached Santana’s place at 9:15, both of them were starving. Santana unlocked the door to her apartment, which was larger but more sparsely decorated than Quinn’s had been. Quinn’s stomach let out a loud rumble. She blushed, embarrassed. Santana was in the middle of teasing her about it when her stomach let out an equally loud rumble, drowning out whatever else she was about to say. They both started laughing.

Santana took out two plastic containers from the fridge, then grabbed two plates and two sets of chopsticks from her cupboard. Quinn eyed the chopsticks suspiciously. “You’re kidding. Tell me those aren’t chopsticks in your hand.”

Santana shrugged nonchalantly, leading the way back into the living room. “I like eating leftovers with disposal chopsticks. That way we don’t have to wash anything.” They settled into the sofa and laid the food on the coffee table.

Oh. So it wasn’t sushi. Quinn tried not to let her face fall – after all, Santana hadn’t complained about her pasta, and it would be rather rude of her to complain about... “I’m just kidding, idiot,” Santana said, grinning. She passed the containers to Quinn. She popped open the cover of the first box and gave a squeal of delight. “SUSHI!”

She immediately picked up a chopstick and stuck a California maki into her mouth. “Mm. This is great,” she said, chewing happily. Then she remembered her manners and stopped, looking guiltily at Santana. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her mouth still full of rice.

Santana gave a huge guffaw and shook her head. “I’m going to take a photo of you now and send it to the team whatsapp group.”

“I’ll kill you!” Quinn said, voice muffled by the food in her mouth.

Santana smirked. “I’d be scared, if I knew what the hell you just said.”

Quinn smacked her on the thigh and burst out laughing. Santana looked alarmed. “Oi! Don’t you dare get rice all over my sofa!”

When Quinn finally finished her first piece, she grinned and immediately reached out for the next one. “So. What’s her name?”

Santana frowned. “What?”

Quinn gestured at the sushi. “The possible future girlfriend who made all of this. Maybe I could steal her away for myself.”

Santana opened her mouth, then closed it again, a blush creeping slowly up her cheeks. “Um,” she stammered, trying to think of a reasonably plausible Japanese name.

Quinn’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit Santana. You made this? Yourself? For me?” Santana bit her lip and refused to look her in the eye.

Quinn reached out, cupped Santana’s chin gently and turned the younger woman around to face her. Their eyes met, and there was a long moment of silence. Then, before either of them knew what was happening, Quinn had leaned in and met Santana’s lips with her own. It was nothing more than a brush of lips, really, but the light touch made Santana’s heart lurch. Quinn’s started thumping wildly against her chest. “Oh God, Quinn,” Santana breathed, feeling her heart swell with something deeper than desire, purer than lust, something she hadn’t felt for anyone in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the kiss was such a chaste affair. I told you guys this was slow-burn :P Stick around! There'll be better kisses along the way. Spoiler alert: Please don't be scared off by the next few chapters, the pain is temporary, I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

Santana and Quinn pulled apart quickly. Quinn scrambled to her feet. Her brown eyes were wild and unreadable. “Er, um, I’ll just er – these are really good.” She stammered. “What I meant to say was – um, I’ll better go. Thanks for dinner!” She stumbled to the door without another word.

With a sinking feeling in her chest, Santana watched Quinn fumble with the latch with shaking fingers, her face flushed red with – embarrassment? Regret? Santana had no way of telling because seconds later, Quinn had succeeded in pulling the door open. Santana sat there wordlessly as Quinn fled the house without a single backwards glance. 

She looked back down at the sushi and the plates and the chopsticks – all that fucking effort – and clenched her jaw, already feeling hot tears of anger and shame well up in her eyes. _God, you’re fucking pathetic._ She swiped at her eyes viciously, suppressing a violent urge to sweep everything off the table in one fluid motion. Suddenly, she felt sixteen again, in the closet, so terrified that someone would find out, desperately in love with girls who’d never, ever love her back. _She was supposed to be done with all that crap._  

Santana sat there for almost thirty whole minutes, stomach churning with a sick whirl of emotion. Finally, she got up and dumped both containers in the garbage bin in the kitchen. Then she went straight to her bed and buried her face into the pillow, biting her lip so hard that she drew blood. She didn’t know how long she lay there in the darkness, unable to sleep, unable to breathe, drowning in her deepest fears, regrets, reliving each nightmare again and again until she finally closed her eyes and fell asleep.

The next morning, the sadness and disappointment and humiliation had hardened into anger. Because that’s what she did; how she survived; who she was. 

... 

Quinn had left the apartment in a haze of confusion. _What the heck just happened?!_ Her heart pounded against her ribcage like a wild, feral animal desperate to be free. She didn’t know why she’d kissed Santana, what it meant for them, what it meant for her – suddenly things that had seemed so clear, so glaringly obvious became hazy and grey. _She was straight, goddamnit it, she might not be in the world’s most traditionally feminine sport – or career, for that matter – but that was as far as_ that _went...Wasn’t it? After all, she’d always wanted a man, 2.8 children, a white picket fence and a goddamn dog that nobody wanted to take care of._ How many times had she spent squealing over hot guys in high school, fantasizing about getting married to one of them, fumbling clumsily around with them in darkened movie theatres and in the backseat of a car, and eventually, getting her heart broken each and every time they walked away? 

There’d been so many of them. Puck, with his impish smile and the look he got in his eyes that made you believe, stupidly, foolishly, that you were special, that there would always be space in his heart for you – Puck, who had gotten her pregnant and then ran away, too scared and too young to be a father, Puck, who had sobbed into her arms as she handed her baby – theirs – away to a pair of smiling strangers... Finn, with his earnest, stupid grin, his large, strong hands that felt so capable, so safe, so warm – Finn, who had eventually ditched her for some stupid doe-eyed Broadway singer... Sam, with his beautiful blonde hair that everyone said matched perfectly with hers, his kind blue eyes and strange big lips – Sam, who had gone on to date nearly everyone else in her high school soccer team after they broke up... 

They’d broken her heart, yes, but only because she had given it to them in the first place. _She was straight._ She repeated those words over and over to herself, like a kind of strange, twisted chant, not noticing that she had sped past the left turn she was supposed to have taken until she was already twenty miles away.

But there had been _something_ , she had certainly _felt_ something – God, she _really, really_ didn’t want to think about it. Her head spun and throbbed and she felt like throwing up all over her car.

She didn’t know what to think, how to feel, what to do – the memory of Santana’s lips still lingered on her own. She did the only thing she knew how to do. She ran. _You’re a fucking coward, Fabray,_ she thought bitterly as she remembered the look on Santana’s face when she’d panicked and scrambled out of the sofa.

...

It was a long, sleepless, dreamless night for both parties.

...

The next day, they had a match against the league’s lowest-ranked team. The newspapers had predicted a blood bath. 

Quinn stumbled into the changing room. She was late, but no one seemed to notice. They didn't notice the dark rings beneath her haggard, haunted eyes, either.

The team hummed with excitement and confidence, knowing that with the sizzling performances they had been delivering in the past one and a half months, they could crush this team, easy.

It only took Quinn one glance at Santana to know that they wouldn’t be crushing anyone that day. Santana looked up and met her gaze with so much sorrow and so much pain in her eyes that Quinn crumbled and came undone.


	6. Chapter 6

The match was, as Quinn had predicted, an absolute disaster. Thirty minutes in, and they were already trailing by two goals. Nobody knew what was going on. Everything was a mess. Quinn and Santana... Neither of them were helping at all. They collided into each other and tripped over their own feet. They blundered aimlessly around the pitch and lost the ball more times than anyone could count. Then, at the sixty-third minute, disaster struck. Quinn slid right into a striker who was sprinting down the left flank with a horrifically timed tackle.

The striker went down right at the edge of the penalty area, clutching her ankle and moaning in agony.

“Shit.” This, at least, seemed to snap Quinn out of her stupor. She rushed over and bent over the striker. “A-Are you okay?” The striker only grunted in response. Her face had turned a chalky white. The referee came running over. Behind her came the medics. They carried the injured player off the pitch for immediate medical attention.

The referee dug out a red card from her pocket and raised it in the air. The look on her face left no room for argument. Not that Quinn was in any fit state to argue. The team watched, dumbstruck, as their captain slowly took off her armband and passed it silently to Vivian, the Vice-captain. Santana stared at her feet. The referee pointed to the penalty spot. Quinn walked off the pitch and into the changing room.

Quinn sat glumly on the bench, trying very hard not to think about anything as she waited for the game to end. She clenched and unclenched her fists for what seemed like an eternity, trying and failing to decipher what the cheers and jeers meant. Finally, the whistle blew to signify the end of the match. Vivian was the first one in, tossing her gloves moodily on the bench beside Quinn. “4-0,” she said softly. Her tone was sad and rather bewildered, but not accusatory.

Quinn sighed and buried her face in her hands. Coach Johnson marched into the changing room and began her tirade. It lasted a full three hours. By the end of it, the coach’s voice had been reduced to a hoarse whisper.

“You may take your showers,” She said finally, dismissing the team. There was an audible sigh of relief as most of the team scurried away. Quinn, as usual, stayed behind. Santana, too, hung back. As much as she was angry at Quinn for well – fucking everything, the disastrous match today was as much her fault as Quinn’s – and although all she wanted was to disappear off for a long, hot shower, she knew she had no right to leave. Vivian gulped and stayed, too, guessing that those most at fault were expected to subject themselves for a second-round of more intense-lecturing from the coach, although she wasn’t quite sure how much worse it could get, especially since the coach had already lost her voice.

“I said you may take your shower, Vivian,” Coach Johnson said pointedly.

The goalkeeper did not flinch. Neither did she budge. She kept her gaze level and her voice even. “No. _I_ let in those goals today. There were some that I could’ve – should’ve saved. And...” She glanced at Quinn, then back at the coach. “And I was the captain for a while back there. I should’ve-”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Coach Johnson interjected impatiently. “Nothing that happened today was your fault. _Leave._ ” Vivian bit her lip, then decided that she wasn’t about to disobey a direct order, not today.She gave her teammates sympathetic glances, then grabbed her towel and disappeared into the showering area.

The coach turned slowly to face them. Her cold grey eyes landed on Quinn. “I have never been more disappointed in you, Quinn,” She said. Quinn swallowed and bit her lip. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before the coach finally looked away and diverted her steely gaze to Santana. “You will deal with whatever it is between the two of you, and you will deal with it now.” She flicked her gaze back at Quinn. “This is the last time any of you will bring your personal troubles onto the pitch. You understand me?” They nodded grimly. With that, Coach Johnson swept out of the room and slammed the doors shut.

Quinn looked miserable. Santana took a deep breath and turned to her. Her voice was shaky. “Quinn, can we talk about last night?”

Quinn couldn’t bring herself to look at her. “Please, Santana." She sounded so broken and so tired that Santana felt an instinctive urge to put her arms around her shoulders and pull her in for a hug. But then she remembered what happened last night and stopped herself before she did anything else that would drive her away even further. “I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Santana glared at her. “I deserve to know what you want and don’t want, Quinn. Don’t leave me hanging like some kind of fucking puppet toy.”

Quinn gritted her teeth. “There’s nothing to talk about, Santana. I’m not gay.” The look on Santana’s face when she said that nearly broke her heart again. But it was the only thing Quinn knew how to do. She pushed people away when they came too close. She pushed things away when they got confusing or complicated.

Santana blinked back tears. “You weren’t drunk when you kissed me, Fabray. You weren’t drugged. You weren’t forced. _You_ kissed me.” She couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice, but hoped Quinn mistook that for rage and not grief. “It’s kind of a dick move to do that to someone and then turn around and waltz out of the door three seconds later.”

Quinn almost sighed in sick, twisted relief. She could deal with this. Bitchy, pissed-off Santana was familiar, easy – easy to hate, easy to brush off, easy to hurt. Vulnerable, broken Santana who just might love her was another story altogether. _She was just a big, fucking coward, after all._ “I’ve been straight all my life, Santana. This – this will rip my life apart. It’ll change every fucking thing I thought I knew about myself, my life, my future.” There was a long pause. Quinn closed her eyes and choked out the words she knew would drive Santana away for good. “ _You’re not worth all of that_.”

A beat. Another beat. And then a silence that was heavy with finality. Santana got up and walked away. When the tears came, Quinn wasn’t there to see them.

Quinn was no stranger to retreating backs. The realisation that this was it – a painful end to something that hadn’t even begun, not really – brought a sharp pain to her chest. But she was no stranger to pain, either. The words her ex-boyfriend had said to her so many years ago came rushing back again, echoing like a haunted ghost in the empty, hollow chambers of her mind. _You’ll never be happy. Never._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the heartache, guys, I promise it's ending soon xD


	7. Chapter 7

The next match, which Quinn was suspended from due to the red card she had received, was not as disastrous as the last one had been – primarily because without Quinn on the field, Santana was marginally less distracted than she had been last week.

One week later, Sally had served out her one month's notice and left the club for good. Quinn was back from her suspension for the next match. Nobody knew what to expect. Coach Johnson decided that she wasn't going to take any chances.

Just before the match, she cornered Quinn and Santana in the changing room and delivered her ultimatum. "I don't know what's going on, but if you don't sort it out _right now,_ it's either one of you on the bench for as long as necessary. You have twelve minutes until the start of the match." Quinn and Santana sat in sullen silence without so much as a single glance at the other person.

The game started off rather dismally and only went downhill from there. Neither Coach Johnson’s warning nor Santana and Quinn’s attempts to heed it made any difference – the chemistry was gone, and their half-hearted efforts to salvage it were fooling nobody. Coach Johnson shook her head. After the third goal, with New York Flash trailing 3-1, she signalled to the referee and took Santana out of the game.

Yolanda, who was out with an injury and also on the bench, tried to lay a reassuring hand on Santana’s shoulder. Santana shrugged it off angrily and spent the next thirty minutes glaring daggers into Quinn’s back from the sidelines.

Admittedly, with Santana gone, Quinn regained a portion of her confidence and New York Flash went on to tie the game at 3-2.

...

The team filed into the changing room after the match. Quinn walked silently to her locker. She didn't notice Santana until the brunette slammed her against the lockers, eyes wild with rage. "Don't you _dare_ mess around with my career, Fabray." She hissed, breath hot against Quinn's face. "You've messed around with my life quite enough as it is, don't you think?" 

Quinn shoved her away and looked around them quickly. The last thing she wanted was for anyone on the team to notice and force her to deal with Santana's rude behaviour publicly. Or, worse still, demand an explanation from Santana, who had absolutely no reason to lie - Quinn had absolutely no desire to let them in on something she considered a terrible mistake. To her relief, one of the others had seen the altercation. “ _Keep your voice down._ " She said in a low voice, turning to face Santana. "Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sick and tired of this. It’s dumb and it’s petty and we both know that when it comes down to it, _you_ will be the one sitting on that bench day after day until we find a solution to this. So maybe it’s time we both just moved on.”

Santana narrowed her eyes. “This is _dumb_ and _petty_?” She hissed, voice quivering with rage. “I’m sorry but expecting a kiss to _mean something_ and being upset that it didn’t is _dumb_ and _petty?”_ A beat. Santana’s palm connected solidly with Quinn’s right cheek with a ringing slap. 

Everyone gasped and turned around to face them. Quinn’s expression was unreadable. “Down,” she said, staring Santana straight in the eye. “Fifty push ups. Now.” 

Santana stared at her incredulously. The rest of the team stared back at her expectantly. Quinn did not back down. She knew _exactly_ how firm she had to be. Sally always came down hard on infractions like these, and Quinn was certainly expected to do the same. There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Santana lowered herself to the ground, burning with humiliation. When she had finally struggled through the push-ups, Santana got to her feet, face red with shame and exertion. “Outside,” said Quinn in a low voice.

Santana followed her out. They turned to face each other. The hatred in Santana’s eyes was obvious. “What?” She spat, “Haven’t you had enough fun at my expense?”

“Santana, believe it or not, I didn't enjoy doing that.” Quinn said wearily. “The team was watching me to see how I would react. I’m sorry it had to come to that... Just - please don’t do that again.” She paused, then continued softly, “not in front of them at least."

Santana shook her head. "You're fucking unbelievable. Are you saying that you're gonna let me slap you again as long as no one's watching?" 

Quinn knew that in her fear and her desire to escape something she didn't understand, she had hurt the other woman badly. She accepted that maybe Santana had lashed out in the same callous, cruel way today. “No, I'm just saying that I don't blame you for doing what you did.” she said tightly.

Santana’s gaze softened. “You’re an idiot, Quinn,” she stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Quinn’s cheek, touching the red mark with her thumb. Quinn flinched, but didn’t move away. Their eyes met. To Quinn’s surprise, Santana’s gaze was apologetic. “I was angry and uncontrollable and what I did just now was unacceptable. I’m sorry.”

Quinn swallowed. “Look, Santana, about that night-”

Santana cut her off gently. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it. It’s about time I respected that.” She turned around and walked away. Quinn watched her go, stunned.


	8. Chapter 8

Quinn went to Coach Johnson the next day. “Please let Santana off the bench the next game.” The coach raised her eyebrows, but did not reject her suggestion right away, choosing instead to let her silence force Quinn to continue. “I – I think we’re ready now.” She said, by way of explanation.

She was right.

The next few weeks saw a vast improvement in their performance – and their standings. They weren’t recreating the same spectacular goals, but they’d managed to scrape together some messy wins and that was enough to put them back in the 7th spot. Off the pitch, Santana and Quinn were polite and civil to each other, returning to the stage they had skipped at the beginning of their relationship.

Quinn knew, with perhaps a twinge of regret, that Santana would never trust her again. This formal, almost painful politeness might be all she got from Santana for the rest of her life. They hadn’t talked about that night and perhaps never would – Santana had certainly stopped pushing for answers. Quinn supposed that she had simply stopped caring.

But Quinn – Quinn couldn’t forget. She couldn’t forget the rush of blood to her cheeks, the thumping of her heart against her chest, the yearning for something she couldn’t quite put a finger to. That single kiss remained seared into her memories and came back to haunt her dreams every night without fail. Some days she woke up in cold sweat, yearning for Santana’s touch.

She missed her. She needed her. For the first time in her life, Quinn felt her self-control slip away. She had always found it so easy to deny herself of the things she wanted, the things she craved with all her heart – so much so that unhappiness had become almost second nature to her. She’d starved herself skinny at age fourteen. She'd driven away every single person she seemed to care about. She'd abandoned her baby girl.

So why was it so damned hard to rid herself of this particular woman?

Quinn woke up the next morning shaking and sweating as usual. The only difference was that this morning, she had finally cracked.

...

That day, after a particularly good game against Houston Dash (ranked 4th in the league), Quinn approached Santana for the first time in two months. At least if she got rejected, she still had the win to be happy about.

She knew Santana wasn’t going to be stupid enough to give her heart away again, but Quinn wasn’t asking for that. This wasn’t about that. This was just about, well, being friends. Because Quinn could have that at least, right?

“Hey Santana,” Quinn tried and failed to keep her voice even.

“Hey Quinn,” Santana replied warily. Her tone was noncommittal. She regarded Quinn with hooded, inscrutable eyes. She offered nothing.

Quinn gulped. “I was just thinking... Um. Would you like to come over to my place for dinner...tonight, that is. I - If you’re free, of course.”

Santana stared at her for a long time, not speaking.

“I’ve never heard someone sound quite so incoherent in my life,” She said finally, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

“Oh. Um, is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a maybe. Depends on what kinda food you’re offering.”

“Um, well, leftovers,” Quinn admitted sheepishly. She look like a perfect-sixties-wife, but her idea of cooking was chucking food in the microwave until it smelled burnt. She had never even touched the stove at her house before except to light a birthday candle that one time she hosted a birthday party over at her place and couldn’t find a lighter. “Valentino’s world famous pizza leftovers, though,” she said, hoping this would tip the scales in her favor.

“Alright,” Santana said, her lips creeping upwards into a smile. "Deal."

Quinn’s heart fluttered painfully. She hadn’t seen Santana smile in almost a month.

...

Between them, they polished off two boxes of half-eaten pizza. “God, I’m stuffed.” Quinn groaned, patting her stomach guiltily. “Coach would have a fit if she knew.”

“You’re a lightweight,” Santana scoffed, licking the grease of her fingers contentedly. “I could keep going for the rest of the night.”

They hadn’t quite regained their easy banter, but conversation had flowed pretty smoothly, and nobody had stuck a knife in anybody’s back, which was a vast improvement from the past couple weeks or so. At ten thirty in the evening, Santana stood up and headed to the door. Quinn shut the door quietly behind her.

Santana lay in bed that night again, deprived once again of easy sleep. She had trusted Quinn once.

Santana didn’t trust Quinn now, not at all. And yet somehow, just when she thought she’d finally gotten everything back under control, here she was again, tearing down her defenses, getting so dangerously close– close enough to fuck her entire life up all over again... Santana prided herself on keeping her heart so guarded and safe and hidden that only a handful of people she trusted with her life were allowed to approach. But Quinn – Quinn had waltzed in, waltzed out, and waltzed back into her life again – and she had let her.

Santana closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath – Quinn had invited her to dinner. Regardless of what she'd said to her a month ago, Santana knew that she meant something to her.

And Santana, unlike Quinn, wasn’t a coward. Santana, unlike Quinn, knew what she wanted and never lied about it. Santana, unlike Quinn, went after those things regardless of whether or not she had a chance in hell of succeeding. Santana was letting her back in because, well, Quinn had asked her to -  _wanted_ her to. And that was invitation enough. Because despite everything, Santana wasn't broken enough to dream.


	9. Chapter 9

Santana stopped Quinn outside the showering area. “You free tonight, Fabray?”

Quinn, coherent, confident and self-assured all afternoon, barking out non-stop orders on the pitch and completely in her element, was now instantaneously reduced into a dithering idiot. “Er, um... I, I -”

Santana rolled her eyes and pressed a ticket stub into the other woman’s palm. “Just say yes.”

“Y-yes.” Quinn said, wide-eyed.

“Good.” Santana said. “Come to the movies with me.” She smirked at Quinn’s dumbfounded expression, then waltzed off for a nice hot bath.

...

Santana and Quinn elbowed their way through the Friday night crowds. Santana was holding a large box of popcorn, salted, because she had a hunch that Quinn liked it that way. She was right and was immediately rewarded with a small, quick smile from the blonde woman as they settled into their seats.

“What are we watching again?” Quinn asked, reaching into the box for more popcorn.

“Occulus,” Santana said, nonchalantly. Quinn’s expression was priceless. Santana took one look at her and started cackling. “Quinn Fabray is a wimp!” She crowed triumphantly. “I _knew_ you had a weakness somewhere in that stone heart of yours.” 

Quinn wanted to tell Santana that _she_ was a pretty damn big weakness of hers, but stopped herself because that was cheesy as hell, and certainly inappropriate for the beginning of a horror movie. Instead, she stuck her nose in the air and said snootily, “I’m not _scared_ of horror movies, I just find them brainless and distasteful.” 

Santana raised her eyebrows. “I see,” she said, smirking slightly. “We’ll see about that, won’t we, Fabray?” She settled into her seat and grinned gleefully. When the light dimmed, she snuck her arm very quietly onto the shared arm-rest between their seats. 

"I saw that," Quinn whispered, smiling slightly at the brunette's antics. She did not, however, take up the invitation.   


The first truly scary scene took her completely by surprise. She gave a little shriek and buried her face into Santana’s shoulder. When she realized what she was doing, she straightened, blushing. Her eyes were still tightly shut. “Is it over? Please say it’s over.”

Santana laughed. “Yes.” Quinn lifted an eyelid cautiously and peeked at the screen. She screamed and punched Santana in the shoulder. “Asshole!” She abandoned any pretenses of appropriate behavior and spent the next few minutes curled up into Santana’s chest, breathing heavily. A few minutes later: “Can I look now?” 

Santana glanced down at her, sounding exasperated. “There is literally _nothing_ going on now. She’s eating an apple, for chrissakes. You can’t be _that_ wimpy.”

Quinn sighed in relief and opened her eyes just in time to see the female lead character chomp down hard on a mouthful of glass shards. She had bitten into a light-bulb. Quinn nearly blanked out. “I am going to _kill you,_ Santana Lopez.”

“I’m sorry.”

Quinn glared at her. “ _Are_ you?”

“Yes,” Santana said, suppressing a smile.

Quinn’s gaze softened. “Good.” She reached out for Santana’s hand and took it. Santana chortled. “Shut up,” Quinn snapped, giving the hand a vicious squeeze.

“Ow!” 

“Shh. We’re in the middle of a movie.” Quinn turned back to the movie screen.

Quinn clung on to Santana’s hand throughout the movie and only released it when the lights had come on. Santana’s fingers had gone rather numb from being squeezed so hard and so long. In fact, they were so numb that Santana was pretty sure that she’d only realize that some fingers had been dislocated when she got home two hours later. “Santana Lopez, you may now officially abandon all hopes of _ever_ taking me out to another movie,” Quinn said, when they’d exited the movie theatre. 

Santana guffawed. “No matter. I’ve already gotten enough footage of your face today for future blackmailing purposes.”

Quinn laughed and smacked her on the arm. They talked and laughed until they reached the carpark and made their way to their cars. Before Santana could make another joke, Quinn pressed her hand to her shoulder and blurted, “I’m sorry for running away.” She took a deep breath. “I was scared. I’m still scared. I felt something I’ve never felt for any other woman before – and very few men, for that matter. And so instead of dealing with those – those feelings, I tried to escape from them.”

Santana nodded slowly, her eyes gentle. “I know. I know how that feels. When I realized I was gay in sophomore year of high school, I tore people down because they were happy and I wasn’t – because I thought they had something that I would never, ever have and I was jealous as fuck.” Quinn slipped her hand into hers again, and this time it had nothing to do with horror movies or freaky haunted mirrors. “I was in love with this girl,” Santana continued, fully aware that she had only told this to one other person in her life. Brittany. Brittany, who was thousands of miles away now, lost to her, lost to her world. “Instead of acknowledging it, I had sex with as many boys as possible because they wanted me and she didn’t – and it felt good to be...wanted, to be in control.” She looked Quinn right in the eye. “I'm as scared as you are."

The tension between them now was almost electrifying. “I promised you a lot of things I couldn’t deliver that night,” She said softly. “I won’t promise you anything now, Santana, because I know you don’t trust me any more, not after what I did. But if it isn’t too late... I’d like to give this another shot.”

Santana rested her hands on Quinn’s hips and pulled her in towards her. “Don’t fuck it up this time,” she whispered. She knew that she was getting herself into something that would almost certainly break her heart. But right then and there, with the silvery moonlight shining in Quinn’s beautiful hazel eyes, with Quinn’s body tucked in perfectly against hers, warm, firm, and so very, very _right_ – she didn’t care if it did. 

They kissed slowly, softly, sweetly, as the dark night sky spun slowly around them, weaving a spell so thick and so strong that Santana found herself believing, stupidly, that this would be worth it no matter what happened next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back in business :P


	10. Chapter 10

Both of them had gone to sleep feeling happier than they'd been in weeks. Of course, Santana couldn’t shake the slightly twinge of anxiety that things would go exactly the way it had two months ago, but that was something to worry about in the morning. Tonight was about the stars and the sky and the sweet taste of popcorn on Quinn’s lips.

... 

Santana was awoken by a phone call in the morning at 7 a.m. Training didn’t start till 2 p.m. in the afternoon, and all her friends knew better than to call her _this_ early in the morning... Groaning, she debated pulling the blankets over her head and going back to sleep, but the phone wouldn’t stop ringing – and she had a nagging feeling that this could be important. She sighed and stumbled out of bed, nearly stubbing her toe on her bedside table in the process. She groped around for her phone in the semi-darkness of her room with the curtains drawn.

“Hello?” Came Quinn’s unmistakable voice at the end of the line. Santana’s spirits lifted immediately at the sound. A grin was already tugging at the corners of her lips. Then she realized that she might be calling to tell her that last night was a mistake, and her stomach twisted in fear.

“Hey Quinn,” She said cautiously. “What’s up?”

“I’m going for a jog around Central Park. Wanna come?”

Santana nearly choked with relief. She smiled, then remembered she was supposed to be annoyed about getting up so early. “Are you insane, Fabray? Who goes on jogs at 7 a.m. in the morning on the same day they have fucking training in the afternoon?” 

“Me,” Quinn said chirpily, if somewhat unnecessarily.

Santana laughed. “Me too, apparently. See you there in fifteen minutes.” She hung up and headed to the bathroom, still grinning like an idiot.

... 

“You look good,” Santana said, unable to stop herself from gaping. Quinn had tied her hair back in a messy ponytail, and was wearing a dark blue tank top and a pair of running shorts that exposed her beautifully toned legs.

“Let me know when you're done objectifying me and we can start running,” Quinn said, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Santana gulped and tore her eyes away. “W-was just uh, n-nice running shorts. Where didja get them?”

“Nice try,” Quinn laughed, ignoring her question. “We're going the full loop around the park. I trust you’ve done this before?” Santana nodded, but before she could say anything else, Quinn had already sped off into the distance. “Loser buys breakfast!” She called out jauntily behind her. Santana shook her head, sighed, and took off after Quinn. 

Santana and Quinn were neck-to-neck for the first five miles, occasionally overtaking the other only to fall behind a few minutes later. They went at a blistering pace: both women were in tip-top physical condition and competitive as hell. Neither one of them wanted to lose - this was what they did for a  _living,_ after all. Santana glanced over at Quinn, who was breathing heavily and slightly red in the face. Quinn caught her eye and picked up her pace. They began their last mile at a ridiculous sprint. Santana’s breaths were coming in quick gasps.

As they neared the gates, Santana's lips curled upwards in a smile that was nothing short of diabolical. Quinn glanced over suspiciously just in time to see Santana slide her black shirt up and off her body completely. She bunched it up in her right hand and continued to run, shooting Quinn an evil grin.  

_Shit._ Quinn stumbled and nearly tripped over her own feet. Santana's lean body, beautifully tanned skin and devilish grin made Quinn falter. "That's cheating!" She yelled, trying to get her feet to move in the same direction. With great difficulty, she regained motor function and partial control over her thoughts. Santana had already widened the gap to fifty meters. Quinn cursed and increased her pace as much as she could without flat out killing herself, taking care to keep her eyes away from Santana's bare upper body. 

Santana flew past the entrance to Central Park five steps ahead of her and came to a shuddering halt just outside the gates. She stopped, doubled up, and took deep, shuddering breaths, evidently too exhausted to celebrate. Quinn grabbed her sweaty arm with equally sweaty fingers and proceed to drag her backward. “Don’t stop so suddenly,” She panted, “You’ll get a heart-attack.” Santana sighed and jogged a short distance back into the Park with Quinn by her side. 

Until she wasn’t. Quinn broke away, cackling maniacally, sprinting at full speed back towards the entrance of Central Park. Santana, stunned, could only watch as she raised her hands in victory, yelling, “I win!!!” 

Santana shook her head and ran after her. “No you don’t! No matter how you see it, I passed through those gates first.”

“Ahaha doesn’t count, doesn’t – oof!” Santana enveloped her mouth with a big, sloppy kiss.

She pulled away slightly to catch her breath, her face still inches away from Quinn's. "Yes it does," Quinn said, pulling Santana back in for another fierce kiss. Her tongue ran along Santana's bottom lip, seeking permission to enter. Santana gave it without a moment's hesitation. Quinn threaded her fingers into Santana’s long dark hair, and leaned in hungrily, deepening the kiss. She ran her hand downwards along the length of Santana’s glorious bare body, humming in honest appreciation. Santana moaned softly. Santana continued to explore every inch of Quinn’s mouth – Quinn’s fingers did the same with Santana's body, sweeping upward with feather-light touches. Her fingers brushed against the fabric of Santana’s bra. Santana gasped and bit down lightly on Quinn’s lip.

They stayed like that, kissing like their lives depended upon it, for what seemed like an eternity. People were starting to stare and give them disapproving looks, but neither cared - or even noticed. When they finally pulled away, they were breathless with desire. Santana's eyes shone with an emotion that Quinn couldn't quite decipher. 

“You’re buying,” Quinn said finally, when she’d recovered enough to speak.

Santana pulled on her shirt and frowned. “Huh?”

“You lost. You’re buying. There’s this really great brunch place nearby...C’mon, I’ll show you-” Quinn took her hand and tugged on it impatiently.

Santana laughed and shook her head in exasperation. “I did _not_ lose,” She clarified huffily, allowing herself to be dragged excitedly down the street all the same.


	11. Chapter 11

Quinn and Santana got a seat by the window in a small, quaint café that was tucked away in an inconspicuous corner. “Their pancakes are really good,” Quinn said, waving a waiter over. “Two plates of blueberry pancakes,” She said, eyes flicking over to Santana. Santana rolled her eyes and nodded, passing both their menus over to the waiter.

“Thanks for dictating my life, Captain,” Santana said dryly, the corners of her lips creeping upwards.

“I just thought, you know, since you’re paying and everything, I might as well make myself useful in other ways.” Quinn smiled sweetly at her. They both laughed and settled into their chairs, happily exhausted from their run. Santana was still on some kind of adrenaline trip and she wasn't quite sure if it was due to the morning exercise or the other... morning _activity._

Every time either of them made even the slightest movement, their legs would brush against each other. Santana had never been so happy about a small table before, and took great pleasure in shifting about in her seat so that their knees touched. Quinn shot her a stern glare, then went on to trap Santana’s legs between her own. She held them there tightly, face betraying no emotion save for an almost imperceptible glint of amusement in her eyes. “Oh no you don’t,” Santana growled. They proceeded to play footsie like a bunch of giggling teenage kids until the pancakes came and shut them both up.

“Wow,” Santana said, looking at the stack of fluffy pancakes in front of her in slack-jawed amazement. “They smell _amazing._ ”

“Mmghh,” Quinn agreed happily, already slicing into her first pancake. Santana marveled at her efficiency. Within minutes, they were down to their last pancake.

Santana stared down mournfully at her almost empty plate. She had only one bite left of her last pancake – Quinn, on the other hand, was trying to prolong the enjoyment for as long as was humanely possible by cutting herself ever tinier pieces, and chewing at the speed of an eighty-year-old woman who’d lost both her teeth _and_ her dentures. “Will you _finish it_ and put me out of my misery?” Santana snapped, watching moodily as Quinn put another piece into her mouth. Quinn only grinned in response.

Santana’s face suddenly turned pale. “Oh shit. Coach Johnson,” She hissed.

Quinn’s jaw dropped. _Their low-carbs, no refined-sugar, no trans-fats diet..._ She turned around slowly, dreading every second of it. She didn’t see Coach Johnson anywhere. “Where is she?” She whispered, turning back around to face Santana, only to catch the brunette scarfing down the last of her pancake. The woman grinned sheepishly and swallowed, washing everything down with a large swig of orange juice. Quinn’s eyes widened in outrage. “That’s it. You’d better watch your back tonight, Santana Lopez.” 

Santana quirked an eyebrow. “Why? Are we finally doing something my mother wouldn’t approve of tonight?” 

Quinn’s retort died in her throat. Her heart leapt involuntarily. “Shut up, Lopez,” She mumbled, already feeling the familiar tingling feeling in her gut. Santana cackled and stood up to pay. In light of recent events, she decided she’d give Quinn this victory, at least.

...

 

That night after training, the entire team headed out for dinner at a fish & chips place within walking distance of the training centre. They took up the entire table at the back of the restaurant. “What will you be having tonight?” The waiter asked. He looked like a life-sized plastic Ken-doll.

Quinn rolled her eyes. “You only have one item on the menu,” She pointed out.

“That’s true,” He said good-naturedly. “Sixteen plates of fish & chips, coming your way!” He winked flirtatiously at Quinn and was off. He had clearly taken a shining to Quinn, because he came back to their table after delivering their order to the kitchen. “So. What’re you girls doing here?” He asked.

Quinn rolled her eyes once again. “We’re doing what people normally do in restaurants,” she said, already turning away in disinterest. “You know, eat, drink, pay up.” The guy, in a thick-skulled manner typical of dumb guys who thought they were far more attractive than they actually were, did not get the hint. Instead, he stuck around and bored them all with random comments about the restaurant, the food, the weather, the music playing on the radio, and –no exaggeration here– the stock market.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the team drowned him out with conversations in which he was pointedly excluded from. Santana had a whole repository of hilarious anecdotes and was more than eager to share them, especially if it meant chasing _him_ away. 

Santana had a charming, almost magnetic way of commanding dinner conversations and captivating a crowd – Quinn had sensed it months ago, right the second Santana had stepped into the changing room for the first time. She had felt threatened then, and unwilling to cede the spotlight to this unknown competitor; but today she was content to listen and laugh along with everyone else, basking in the warm glow of friendship, sisterhood, and something rich and heady that she still couldn’t quite define.

When the food finally came, the waiter made another pathetic attempt to catch Quinn’s attention and failed yet again. He slunk away into a corner looking miserable. Santana did not feel in the least bit sympathetic. “For goodness sake,” She grumbled, shaking her head. “If the guy had _any_ balls at all, he’d have asked you for your number five minutes ago and spared us all that crap about the weather.”

Quinn raised her eyebrows, the corners of her lips twitching. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were _jealous_ ,” she whispered, voice low and soft and meant for Santana’s ears alone.

The tips of Santana’s ears turned pink. “As if the guy had any chance,” she scoffed.

Quinn laid her hand briefly on Santana’s right thigh and leaned in. _“He doesn’t._ ” She lifted her hand and went back to slicing her fish. Santana gulped and tried her best to stop her heart from thumping so loudly in her chest. _It wasn’t fair what this damn woman could do to her._

Santana eased slowly out of her aggressive role in the dinner-table conversation and spent the remainder of the dinner plotting various ways to sidle as close to Quinn as possible without anyone else noticing. The fish and chips were piping hot and fried to perfection - so much so that Santana slowly found herself forgiving the establishment for its obnoxious staff.

That is, until the aforementioned waiter came trundling back for a final attempt at getting Quinn's number. “I was wondering if the lot of you would like any drinks,” the waiter asked, looking directly at Quinn with an almost pleading expression in his puppy-dog eyes. “O-on the house,” he said, stammering slightly. Santana was about to tell him to piss off and waste his company money on someone else when Quinn cut in.

“Maybe a couple glasses of beer?” She said sweetly, casting him an innocent doe-eyed smile. He blushed to the tips of his hair and hurried off. 

A muscle in Santana's jaw twitched, but she said nothing about it. When the drinks came, she glared at them like they'd been responsible for poisoning her grandmother and refused to touch a single glass of beer. Quinn reached out for Santana’s hand with a concerned look on her face, but the brunette only jerked away angrily. Quinn sighed and cursed inwardly. 

_One step forward, two steps back, indeed._


	12. Chapter 12

The team bid each other farewell outside, having split the bill as equally as they could without devolving into a good-natured jab at Karen’s humongous appetite (and her well-documented ability to polish off entire pizzas single-handedly).

Santana was about to march off in the direction of her apartment when Quinn grabbed her arm to stop her. She had meant to apologize, but all that came out of her mouth was a stern, strangled, “Don’t you dare walk away from me, Santana Lopez.”

Santana turned to face her. “It’s one thing to receive unwanted advances from a dickhead, Quinn, but it’s quite another to reciprocate in a way that suggests that the advances aren’t quite so unwanted after all!”

Quinn bit back an incredulous laugh. _Were they dating? Exclusive? Did Santana_ want  _them to be? B_ _ecause they were now in a strange, state of peaceful -not anymore- limbo in which Santana really had no right getting_ this  _worked up over an innocent sentence._ But Quinn clenched her jaw and held back. “C'mon, Santana, I just figured if we could get a couple of free drinks – why the hell not?” Quinn ran a hand through her hair roughly, battling between remorse and exasperation. “God knows I thought many negative things about you once, but insecure was never one of them.”

“This isn’t about me being insecure,” Santana said through gritted teeth, even though she knew that it kind of was. “This is about me not knowing when you’re going to flake off on me like last time. When you’re going to decide you’ve had enough of this insanity and walk away from it all like it’s a bad dream. When you’re going to turn lucid and realize that ‘oh, wait a minute’, you’re straight after all. Don’t tell me it’s not going to happen because it damn well bloody did.” She drew a painful breath and pressed her eyes closed, hoping desperately that the tears would stay trapped inside by her trembling eyelids – because the last thing she wanted right now was Quinn’s fucking sympathy. “I’m insecure because I don’t trust that this isn’t a... phase for you. I’m insecure because I don’t know if you’re going to walk away with the next semi-decent-looking guy who flirts with you.”

It hurt to admit it, but Santana did anyway – because she was nothing if not honest – and she had been suppressing this for far too long, forcing it out of her mind, out of her thoughts, willing it to disappear. And it hadn’t.

Suddenly, she felt Quinn’s lips press roughly against her own. Quinn's tongue forced its way into her mouth and swept through it angrily. This kiss was not gentle; it was not kind. It was nothing like the sweet, lingering kisses they had shared before. It was meant to dominate. Santana caved and crumpled against Quinn, shaking slightly.

Quinn straightened so that they were facing each other again. “I’m struggling with – defining this, whatever this is – and coming to terms with things about myself that I’ve never had to deal with before. But being unsure about my sexuality doesn’t mean I’m some cheating bitch who’d go dump you for someone else – guy or girl.” She stared hard at Santana to make sure that they agreed about this at least, because it was important. “What I feel for you is real – so real it’s fucking scary. So don’t you _dare_ cheapen it."

Santana kept her eyes on the ground and looked so miserable that Quinn softened. “Come here,” She said, tugging the brunette into a tight hug. She gently pushed Santana’s chin up and kissed her again, this time slowly, gently. Santana trembled into her arms. Quinn buried her head into Santana’s hair and breathed in.

They enjoyed each other’s warmth for a while, then Quinn leaned down and whispered into Santana’s ear in a voice so husky and so low that the brunette felt a shiver travel up her legs. “For the record, if _you_ had any balls at all you'd have askedme to be your girlfriend five days ago and spared us all that crap about this being a  _phase._ ”

Santana smiled sheepishly, recognising the sentence she'd spat at the waiter not too long ago. And then she realised what Quinn had just said. She blanched. _Holy shit. Did Quinn just say..._ girlfriend?! Was she explicitly expressing her...desire...to - oh god. Santana gulped. They were silent for a while, and Quinn worried for a moment that she was taking things too quickly. But then she quickly dispelled that thought - after all, she hadn't been the one freaking out about a little innocent flirting - and in any case, it was about time she took the plunge and admitted what she really wanted. 

Eventually, Santana recovered from her shock. She smiled seductively and whispered, "Ah, but I  _don't_ have balls, remember?" Quinn laughed. "That's kinda the whole point of lesbian dating. You know...no balls in sight." 

Quinn laughed and rolled her eyes. "Excuses," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

Santana slipped her hand into Quinn's. "Can I walk you back home?" 

"Now _that's_ more like it," Quinn said, giving Santana's hand a playful squeeze.

Her question had gone unanswered, but Quinn, for once, didn't mind. After all, she'd tried to micromanage everything and force all her relationships into pigeonholes and strict time-lines before, and that certainly hadn't worked out too well. Maybe it was time for a little change. Or maybe a lot of it. Not once in her life had she expected to be in a relationship - a badly defined one, at that - with a beautiful _woman,_  without any expectations or frenzied desire to tie her down and force a ring on her finger.

Times had changed, indeed. 


	13. Chapter 13

They’d played well before – before the kiss and the nuclear fallout afterwards, the club had a brief golden period that saw them claw their way up the league standings and clinch victories over higher-ranked teams. But even then, they’d played like they were out to prove something – every sweaty, straining minute was brutally fought for; it was intense, grueling soccer.They'd won matches through sheer grit.

But this, this was different. There were beautiful, sweeping runs into the penalty box; inch-perfect passes that sliced through the opposing team’s defenses like knife through butter; cheeky one-two link-ups and almost telepathic chemistry; spectacular goals that made soccer seem like an art – Quinn found herself falling in love with the game, falling in love with the little moments of pure magic, pure perfection, and most of all, falling in love with the gorgeous woman who ran up the field beside her and made those moments possible.

Their amazing performances did not go unnoticed. The newspapers ran articles on their big victories, their rapid rise through the league-standings, and most of all, on the amazing chemistry between New York Flash's two attacking midfielders who were on top of their game. The season was coming to a close in two months, and if they kept up the blistering climb to the top, it was very likely that they would finish comfortably in the top five. In fact, they had a decent shot at the third spot, which would put them in the Europa league for the first time in well, ever.

Coach Johnson was pushing them harder than before, refusing to loosen up in trainings just because they were “playing semi-decently for once”. Which meant that trainings were tougher than they’d ever been and ended thirty or forty minutes later every day. Santana pretended to whine about it, but really she was secretly happy about having those extra minutes with Quinn, even though they were always spent doing drills and sprints and conditioning exercises.

They were meeting almost every day either before or after training, sometimes on the weekends as well, and Quinn had never felt happier.

Today, training ended a full forty-five minutes later than it was supposed to, and the entire team trudged back to the changing room covered in a layer of mud, grass, grime, and sweat. Santana followed the other ‘first-round bathers’ into the showering area, while Laurie, Quinn, and Yolanda stayed behind, nearly passing out on the seats in exhaustion.

Yolanda soon decided that she needed to use the restroom and dragged herself reluctantly to her feet.

“Quinn-” Laurie looked like she had been waiting for an opportunity to get Quinn alone for days now. Quinn realized that the last time she had gone out for dinner with her friend was almost two weeks ago now and felt a stab of guilt.

“Let’s go out for dinner tomorrow,” She said, before Laurie could say anything else.

“That would be nice,” Laurie replied, smiling. “But that isn’t what this is about. You - you don’t even have to answer this if you don’t want to. I was just wondering...” Laurie had never been a particularly blunt person, and was clearly struggling with getting the next sentence out without sounding too crass. “Um. I’ve seen the way you and Santana look at each other and...”

Quinn blushed furiously. “We haven’t...defined anything yet - we're not exactly _together..._ "

Laurie nodded. “I mean, it’s none of my business, Quinn...But I know you. I know this is...different. And I don’t want you to worry unduly or anything, but... Santana's been dating just _one person_ for the past three years – could be even longer but the newspapers have only been tracking her since then – they even got _engaged._  They broke up only like, a couple months ago. And Santana's still spotted 'hanging out' with her every once in a while.”

Quinn frowned. “Are you trying to warn me about something?"

Laurie sighed and placed a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Santana seemed pretty damn serious about this girl and I don’t know if she’s ready to get serious about someone else – and I don’t want you to be her rebound, you know? Especially since you seem like you... like her a lot.”

Quinn was quiet for a while, but then she gave Laurie a sincere smile. “Thanks for the heads up, Laurie, but I think I can take care of myself.”

Laurie nodded and steered the conversation back to light-hearted territory. “I never knew you were that way inclined.”

“Nor did I,” said Quinn, laughing ruefully. “Guess I just never met the right woman.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Laurie protested, feigning mock outrage. She wiggled her hips suggestively. “I’ll have you know that I'm pretty damn attractive!”

Vivian walked into the changing room just in time to catch Laurie’s performance. “What the hell are you doing?” She asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

“Being attractive,” Laurie said defensively. Quinn burst into laughter. Vivian joined in, and Laurie smacked them both on the arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this is a little shorter than usual (and without any Santana/Quinn interaction) but the next chapter will be up soon :)


	14. Chapter 14

When she unzipped her duffel bag to stow away the rest of her smelly clothes, Quinn noticed a slip of paper lying at the bottom of the bag. Those who’d gone for the first-round of showers had already left the training centre, and Karen and Laurie were still bathing, so she was alone in the changing room. She stared curiously at the piece of paper and read it twice over. _I’m swinging by at eight to pick you up. Keep your evening free._  

It had to be Santana. She’d be the only one obnoxious enough to ask her out for dinner _on_ the day itself. She turned the piece of paper around and snorted. _Yes, I’m obnoxious. Deal with it._ And then in fine print, _P.S. Sorry._ Typical Santana, she thought, rolling her eyes.

At 8:03, Quinn got into the lift and travelled down to the basement where the lobby and carpark of her apartment was. Santana’s bright red electric car was already ready and waiting by the lift lobby. She pulled open the car door and got in. “Sorry I’m late,” She said, giving Santana a quick peck on the cheek before turning to put her seatbelt on.

“Uh-uh,” Santana said, reaching out a gentle hand to guide Quinn’s face back to hers. “You were _three_ minutes late. _That_ wasn’t gonna cut it.” 

Quinn shook her head wryly, then bent down to plant a kiss on Santana’s collarbone. She ran her lips up Santana’s neck, showering her with light, feathery kisses until she reached the other woman’s mouth. Leaning in to put more force behind the kiss, Quinn wrapped her fingers into Santana’s hair and closed her eyes, letting her instincts take over.

When they finally broke away, they were both tingling with exhilaration. “We’re going to miss our reservations,” Santana mumbled, starting the engine. "Which would be _your_ fault for being late," she clarified. Her hair was all messed up and there were faint lipstick stains on her cheek and upper lip. Quinn took out a pack of tissues and reached over to wipe them off as Santana got them out of the carpark and onto the streets. 

The radio was blasting out some upbeat pop-rock songs and before she knew it, Santana was rocking in her seat, tapping out lyrics and belting out lyrics like a pro. Well, most of her lyrics were jumbled up and most definitely inaccurate, but her voice was beautiful – low, husky, and powerful, vibrating with such honesty and passion that it didn’t matter _what_ she was singing, as long as she was singing it to you. For reasons still unbeknownst to her, Quinn opened her mouth and began to sing along. 

She’d never been a particularly strong singer, and felt extremely self-conscious whenever she was forced into karaoke sessions with the rest of the club. But this was...different, somehow. Her voice, high and clear like a mountain sheppard’s windpipe, blended in with Santana’s and actually managed to sound rather amazing. Santana stopped her rocking and tapping and turned to face her, her eyes filled with genuine awe.

“That was...incredible,” she said, when the song ended. “We should do that again sometime. I didn’t know you could sing.”

“I don’t,” Quinn said truthfully. “I sound pretty mediocre, mostly. I didn’t know _you_ sang.”

“That was a _lot_ better than mediocre,” Santana scoffed, sounding like a huffy recording artist.

“Well, we sound good together,” Quinn said. “Cue sappy analogy.” 

“ _’Cue sappy analogy’_?” Asked Santana incredulously. “You’re too lazy to even _come up_ with one?” 

“Nope - that’s your job,” Quinn said. “You’re the sappy one.”

“Please,” Santana said, grinning as she made the final left turn. “You’re Quinn of sappy. Queen. Get it?”

Quinn rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You know you're a loser when you have to explain your own terrible jokes."

There was no reply to this, but when the car stopped at a traffic junction, Santana slipped her hand up the bottom of Quinn's dress and gave her a playful flick. Quinn gasped, then slapped her hand away. " _Santana_!" She growled, "there are _people_ watching!"

"Sorry," Santana said, still grinning and not looking sorry at all. Quinn laughed and shook her head ruefully. Two minutes later, she reversed smoothly into a parking space and got out of the car. They walked up the steps into the restaurant together. Quinn could tell that it was an expensive one, and wondered what the occasion was and whether she was dressed appropriately for it – whatever it was. “Relax,” Santana said, guessing precisely what Quinn was thinking. “You look gorgeous.” 

“You too,” Quinn said, blushing slightly. They sat down at a table at the corner of the restaurant. A waiter came over to pass them the menus. Unlike the previous one, this waiter did not harbor any lecherous thoughts and besides, any idiot with two eyes could tell that Quinn was with Santana, and that Santana would probably punch anyone who _didn’t_ get it.

Quinn settled happily into her seat and looked around. “This is really nice, Santana.” She smiled. “Not a manifestation of guilt, by any chance?” Santana laughed and shook her head.

Quinn was suddenly reminded of Laurie’s warning earlier that day. She wasn’t unduly worried about it because she trusted Santana, but this seemed like as good a time as any to clear the air and prevent any stupid misunderstandings. “I’ve read about your relationship with your ex in the papers,” She said carefully, not wanting to rile Santana up and ruin the night before it had even begun. “It seemed... serious.”

Santana was quiet a long time. Pain flashed across her brown eyes but soon faded away. “Yes, it was. I loved her with all my heart, and she loved me back. Back in high school, it was more than I had ever received from anyone, so I latched onto it like a dying man grabs at straws... Thing was, she loved everyone and I was just one of many.”

Quinn chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “But she got _engaged_ to you.”

“Mm, I don’t think she really understood what that meant, Quinn.” Santana shrugged. “Besides, Brittany is...Brittany is rainbows and sunshine – maybe one day she’ll settle down, but right now she’s too good for any one person.” 

Quinn clenched her jaw. She didn’t like where this was going. Maybe Laurie was right. Santana clearly still loved her ex, and she didn’t like what that meant about their chances. “She sounds like a nice person,” she said tightly, turning abruptly to the menu sitting on her lap – “The pastas look really good.”

“Quinn, please,” Santana reached out and rested her hand on Quinn’s. “Brittany and I are over _._ She doesn’t love me. It hurt then, but I’ve accepted it. I’ve moved on, Quinn. I promise.”

“So you’re saying if she came back, ready to ‘settle’, ready to love you...You’d go back to her.” Quinn asked, dreading the answer with every fiber of her being. She really wished she hadn’t brought this up. Not now, not tonight...God, why was Santana being so damn _quiet_? She wasn’t reallygoing to say _yes she would go back_ , was she?!

Santana looked so small, so vulnerable, so uncertain that Quinn’s heart broke. Second-best, again. _Again. Always. Second-best._ The words looped over and over in her head.The tears were falling freely now. Quinn stumbled to her feet and out of the restaurant.  _Fuck,_ why did it always have to come to this?


	15. Chapter 15

She only made it to the nearest restroom. Leaning over the sink, she upchucked the remains of her lunch and stood there feeling dizzy and pathetic and miserable. She was a fucking mess. The door slid open and Santana stepped in. “Quinn-”

“Save it,” Quinn said coldly, feeling sick all over again. She tried to push past Santana out of the restroom, but the brunette stepped in front of the door.   
  
“Quinn, please listen to me." Santana's voice had a tone of desperation in it that made Quinn look up despite her brain screaming _no don't go back there don't get hurt again no no no -_  Santana took a few steps closer to Quinn and let the restroom door swing shut behind her."I was going to tell you that I wouldn’t give you up for anyone else in the whole damn bloody world. I was _nervous_ , okay? I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea. I - I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend, goddamnit.” Santana swiped at her eyes fiercely, hiccupping slightly. She looked away, and the small, vulnerable expression was back for a split second before she gulped and met Quinn’s teary gaze. Her voice was soft, but steady. “ _I love you,_ Quinn Fabray.”

Quinn Fabray stared at her for a while. Then she broke out into something that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, and wrapped her hands around Santana. She collapsed against her chest. “I love you too,” she whispered, tilting her lips upwards to meet Santana’s. 

It was a simple, honest kiss that and stripped them to nothing and then pieced them back together again. It was a kiss that promised everything and nothing, a kiss that made everything raw and painful and fresh and green and whole again.

... 

“You know why I didn't ask you to be my girlfriend outside that fish and chips place just after we'd argued and you practically _ordered_ me to just get on with it? Because I wanted to do it in a nice, romantic restaurant with candles and good food and  _not_ after we'd just quarrelled. But in the end I did it in a toilet, both of us covered in snot _._ ” Santana said dryly, when they had finally pulled away. “And despite everything, you still look fucking gorgeous. How is that even possible?”

Quinn laughed. They both washed the tears off their cheeks and dried their hands. Santana reached out and pushed a tendril of Quinn’s blonde hair out of her face, then leant in for another gentle kiss. “I’m sorry for being so terribly insecure. Can we try again? You know, from the start? In the restaurant?” 

“Okay,” Santana said. She grinned and held the restroom door open for Quinn. 

...

They returned to their seats. “So. What food would you like? I’m starving.” 

Quinn ran an eye through the menu again, this time without tears obscuring her vision. “Depends on whose paying,” she said, smirking slightly. “Choose your answer carefully, because if you tell me we’re going Dutch, I’m going _straight_ back to dating men.” 

“We’re going _Dutch_.” Santana said, grinning. Then, without hesitation, “Will you be my girlfriend, Quinn Fabray?” 

“I will,” Quinn said, laughing. The smile on Santana’s face couldn’t get any wider without dislocating her jaw. Quinn felt a pleasant, almost domesticbliss settle over her. Despite all the terrible arguments they’d had, all the insecurities about her sexuality and her desirability, they’d actually made it this far. It was the calm, triumphant feel of a battered ship making it back to shore after a rough and tempestuous voyage. It was the feeling of stability, and comfort, and certainty and of home. “Now that I don’t have to impress you anymore... Can I wear my granny panties all the time? Fancy lingerie is _uncomfortable as fuck._ ” 

Santana shrugged. “You could always _not_ wear any underwear at all." The predatory smirk on her face sent shivers down Quinn’s spine.

Fortunately for Quinn, the food came and spared her from having to hustle up a reply to that statement. “Why is it that we always seem to go round and round in circles?” Quinn asked, sticking a piece of tenderloin beef into her mouth. “I mean, we go backwards and forwards and after every fight I keep thinking ‘God, I’ve had enough of this shit’ but somehow I always find my way back to you.”

“I know. This isn’t easy at all.” Santana bit her lip. “Cue sappy line about how you’re worth it.” Her lips curled upwards cheekily.

“You’re the worst girlfriend ever, Santana Lopez.” Quinn laughed.

Santana pouted. “You don’t mean that.”

Quinn sighed and relented. “No, I don’t. You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

Santana laughed. “I’m not getting fooled by that, Fabray. I’m the _only_ girlfriend you’ve ever had.”

Quinn shrugged nonchalantly. “I think I’d like to give Brittanya shot.” She said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Sunshine and rainbows. _Totally_ my type. You – you’re all dark clouds and thunderstorms.”

Santana laughed again. “Ah, but you’ve got a thing for that, don’t you? I’ve got you all figured out. You’re Eeyore, from Winnie The Pooh. Oscar the garbage grouch, from Sesame Street. The-”

“ _The Garbage Grouch_? Who the hell is _that?_ ”

“You’re green and you live in a dustbin and you’re grumpy as hell,” Santana explained.

“So are you,” Quinn pointed out crossly.

“Which is why we’re so perfect for each other,” Santana said, flashing her girlfriend a sweet smile.

Quinn laughed. “Good save, Lopez.”


	16. Chapter 16

They stumbled into Santana’s house at midnight and headed straight for the bedroom, nearly tripping over their own clothes in their haste to reach the bed. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Santana said thickly, unable to tear her eyes away from Quinn’s gorgeous – and very naked – body.

Quinn climbed on top of Santana and pinned her down with a wicked grin on her face. They were both panting now, slick and wet with desire. Quinn pushed a leg between Santana’s thighs and began to rock her hips; their bodies heaved in unison, rose and fell and bucked and shuddered together, linked by some crazy cosmic chemistry. Each orgasm ripped through their bodies and left them breathless, exhausted, but hungry for more.

The turbulent, tempestuous passion that had flung them together and ripped them apart and smashed them together again climaxed into an energy that was almost destructive in its blinding beauty. Quinn had never felt anything like it before. When it was all over, they fell into each other’s arms and lay there until their breathing became regular again.

Santana’s arm rested possessively, protectively on Quinn. Without the electricity tingling between them, the air felt warm, comfortable, still. “That was nice,” Quinn sighed happily, snuggling closer to Quinn, a post-sex glow spreading over her skin like an angel’s halo.

Santana laughed. “ _Nice?!”_ She shook her head and ran a gentle hand through Quinn’s messy hair, combing out the tangles. “I’m insulted.”

“It was above average,” Quinn said, laughing.

“You’re going to regret that,” Santana growled, propping herself up to her elbows. She straddled the other woman and slipped her hand between her thighs. Quinn gasped and bucked involuntarily. Santana smirked and swirled her finger slowly around Quinn’s clit, increasing the pressure so slowly that the other woman moaned and pushed upwards, grinding herself against Santana’s fingers.

“God – fuck – _please,_ Santana-” Quinn made another unintelligible noise and bucked again.

Santana’s fingers teased Quinn’s clit and slipped in and out so gently and briefly that Quinn actually sobbed in frustration. She tightened her grip on Santana’s hair and begged. Santana smirked and finally relented. Quinn came undone within seconds.

“And how was _that_ , Fabray?” Santana asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Decent,” came the slightly hoarse reply. They both burst out laughing. Quinn quickly pressed her lips to Santana’s mouth and kissed her, preventing the brunette from saying or doing anything in retaliation.

“You’re lucky you’re a good kisser,” Santana grumbled, shaking her head in exasperation. “I swear I’m going to kill you one day.”

“People usually save that for _after_ the marriage,” Quinn said, smiling sweetly. 

They decided to take a bath in Santana’s en-suite bathroom together, and although they’d both thought they were too tired for any more sex, it only took one light touch for everything to get messy all over again. Santana moaned and nearly hit her head on the bathroom wall when she came.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “ _Tana_?” The door creaked open. A middle-aged woman’s head popped in. Her eyes widened in shock. “ _Mierda,_ ” the head disappeared quickly. The door slammed shut and footsteps receded down the stairs.

Quinn stared at Santana, cheeks flushing in humiliation. She got out of the bath quickly, dripping water everywhere as she fumbled for a towel. “Shit shit shit shit,” She said, toweling herself dry as hastily as possible. She had turned rather pale. “Why the _fuck_ didn’t you tell me your _mom_ lived here?!”

Santana, eyebrows knitted in confusion and concern, stood up slowly. “Quinn- it’s alright, she doesn’t-”

“It’s _not alright,_ Santana!” Quinn’s voice rose several octaves. “Your mom just barged in on the two of us having sex! She doesn’t even know my _name._ For fuck’s sake, I haven’t felt this... slutty in my life!” Quinn shoved on her clothes and stormed out of the bathroom, mind racing. Santana got out of the bathroom and turned Quinn gently round to face her. 

“Quinn. Everything’s _fine._ ” She said firmly. “My mom _knows_ about you. You’re... all I’ve talked about at dinner for months.” She blushed slightly at this. “I’m sorry she um – saw you like this – but really, it’s okay. We can go down and uh – introduce each other formally if you want.”

“ _At_ _four fucking a.m. in the middle of the night?”_ Quinn was still shaking, but the shrill note of hysteria in her voice had been replaced by annoyance. Slowly that too faded away, and Quinn’s expression softened. “Sorry for overreacting. I just – _my_ parents would flip out if they found _you_ nakedin my bathtub.”

“That’s okay,” Santana said, taking her girlfriend by the hand and leading her back into the bedroom. “Let’s go to bed.”

When they had both settled underneath the blankets, tucked comfortably into each other’s arms, Quinn smiled and mumbled, “You talk about me at dinner?” Despite the sleepiness in her voice, she still managed to sound vaguely pleased.

Santana laughed. “Shut up and go to bed, Quinn.”


	17. Chapter 17

Quinn woke up at ten a.m., which was pretty early, all things considered. She smiled at Santana, who was snoring softly into the pillow, noting dryly that the woman had wrapped both arms and legs around her, clinging possessively to her body even in sleep. Not wanting to wake her, Quinn lay quietly beside her until her eyes fluttered open sleepily about ten minutes later. “Good morning, beautiful,” Quinn whispered, planting a soft kiss on Santana’s lips.

Santana smiled. “Good morning.” Her hand slid over to Quinn’s uncovered chest and gave her right breast a playful squeeze. She flicked her thumb over Quinn’s already hardening nipples.

Quinn groaned, already throbbing with desire. “You’re insatiable.”

Santana shrugged nonchalantly and withdrew her hand. “Alright then, I’ll behave myself.”

Quinn growled and pushed Santana's hand firmly back to her chest. “Mm, you damn well _will_.” Santana laughed and complied.

By the time they’d finally managed to drag themselves out of bed and into some semi-decent clothes they’d managed to grab from Santana’s horrifically messy closet, it was already twelve and they were both ravenous.

They headed down to the dining room, and Quinn was suddenly reminded of yesterday night. She gripped Santana’s hand and asked, wide-eyed and worried, if she was sure her mom wasn’t going to slap her and kick her out of the house. Santana rolled her eyes, but gave Quinn’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “If she wanted to, don’t you think she’d have done that eight hours ago?”

Quinn opened her mouth indignantly, then closed it again. “That’s a good point," She conceded. "But what if she-”

Santana laughed and tiptoed to press a quick kiss to Quinn’s hairline. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Alright,” Quinn whispered, still clutching Santana’s hand as they made their way to the kitchen to get some food. Santana’s mom _was_ in the kitchen, and so was a strapping young man who looked exactly like Santana – except he was, well, _male_.

Santana stepped forward. “Mamá, this is my girlfriend, Quinn. Quinn, this is Mamá. And that’s my dickhead brother, Fernando."

Quinn smiled, recognizing the slight protectiveness in Santana’s voice. “Hi,” Quinn said shyly, offering an uncertain hand to Santana’s mother. It was rejected in favor of a quick tight hug.

"They don't live here," Santana explained, "They're just dropping by for a quick visit because my dad had to come up here for a business trip." Quinn nodded, blushing slightly under Mrs. Lopez's intense scrutiny. But the older woman only smiled, her eyes sparkling with the same amusement she so often saw in Santana’s.

“Oh darling – you’re beautiful," Santana's mother said, leaning in to kiss Quinn on the cheek affectionately. She turned to her daughter. “I don’t know how you do it, _hija_. But your brother could do with some help.” She rolled her eyes at her son, who blushed and mumbled something unintelligible. Quinn laughed and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Nice to meet you, Fernando,” She said. He blushed again and shrugged awkwardly.

Santana rolled her eyes and smacked him. “Don’t look at her like that, she’s my girlfriend and you’re my brother. Get your own damn women.”

They all laughed at that. "Sit down," Santana's mother waved them all to the dining table and patted Quinn on the shoulder. "I prepared lunch. Well - breakfast for you two sleepyheads." They sat down obediently, already eyeing the food eagerly.

Quinn and Santana’s family took to each other quickly, and by the end of three hours, she was fully acquainted with every embarrassing detail of Santana’s childhood and knew her family tree by heart. Quinn allowed her gaze to float lazily around the room until it came to rest on the clock by the kitchen wall. “Shit-” the colour drained from Quinn’s face. “We’ve got to go for training!” She exchanged horrified glances with Santana, who immediately leapt out of her chair, shot her mother an apologetic glance and grabbed her girlfriend's hand. They bolted into the bedroom with hastily shouted apologies and promises to have dinner again sometime. 

They had exactly five minutes to get to the training centre – Quinn thanked God that she had come straight to Santana’s house after dinner yesterday so at least she didn’t have to go back home for her duffel bag, cleats, and guards. Santana pulled open her closet drawer and threw out two sets of clothes – one for training and one for after – as well as a pair of socks and a clean towel for Quinn. 

Quinn immediately started stripping down to her – actually, Santana’s – underwear. Santana sucked in a breath and forced herself not to look. They were late enough as it was. She found more clothes for herself and pulled them on hastily. They both rushed downstairs and chucked everything into their duffel bags. 

“See y’all later!” Santana shouted. 

“Bye Mrs. Lopez! Bye Fernando!” Quinn echoed, jamming her feet into her flip-flops. "Thanks for breakfast!"

Santana was already at the lift-lobby, jabbing impatiently at the lift buttons. They got into Santana’s car and sped towards the training centre. “They love you,” Santana said, weaving in and out of traffic like a pro. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Quinn said contentedly, feeling strangely calm despite the fact that they were going to get murdered by Coach Johnson later. "Girlfriend, huh," She said, testing the word out tentatively. She smiled faintly at how  _good_ it sounded. How  _real_ and  _right_ it felt, as though they had  _finally_ figured out how to behave around each other. Not friends, and certainly not enemies.  _Girlfriends._

Santana grinned, clearly equally thrilled by this new, easy dynamic between them. It was _comfortable._ The crazy nervous energy that had made them natural enemies and passionate lovers had faded out into something calmer, richer, and more mellow. Although the passion certainly still existed, if the amount of orgasms they'd had in the span of just _one night_ was anything to go by.

“So – when am I going to get to see your parents?” Santana asked. It was a natural enough question, and Santana's tone was light and half-teasing. But Quinn paused and was quiet for a long time. Realizing that she had somehow tread into sensitive territory, Santana laid a gentle hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry. It was just a stupid question. I don’t _have_ to meet them." She said softly. 

Quinn shook her head. “No, it’s not stupid. I want more than anything else to introduce you to my parents but – well, they won’t take it very...well. We probably shouldn’t rush into things – they don’t even know I’m gay – or bisexual, whatever.” She sighed. “I haven’t spoken to them in _months_.” 

Santana nodded. The rest of the car ride was spent in comfortable silence, filled by soft radio music and the occasional car horn. They arrived at the training centre at 3:15 and sprinted to the pitch together. The rest of the team had already finished their warm-up exercises and had gathered in a circle for the short stretching routine. 

Coach Johnson rounded on the two of them angrily. They gulped. “Why are you late?” She demanded, glaring at Quinn. Quinn tried her best to look contrite. 

“Sorry, coach.” She didn't elaborate -  Coach Johnson probably - definitely - wouldn't be interested in the sordid details. 

Coach Johnson scowled and turned to Santana. “And you?” 

Santana lowered her head in what seemed like remorse – but Quinn could see the hint of a cheeky grin spreading on the other woman’s lips. Quinn elbowed her viciously. Santana got herself under control. “I was with her, coach.” 

The coach narrowed her eyes at the both of them. “Twenty rounds around the pitch,” She barked. Quinn and Santana, eager to escape the wrathful looks of the older woman, took off without another word. 

They snuck peeks at each other as they ran. “Well, at least this’ll help with your endurance,” Santana panted, shooting Quinn a cheeky grin. "Off-the-pitch endurance, I mean." 

“That has nothing to do with _endurance,_ Lopez - I can’t help getting a little bored when the sex is only tolerable.” Quinn grinned back at the brunette next to her. Santana smacked her in the arm. 

“What the hell d’you two think you’re doing?” Came Coach Johnson’s voice from the other end of the pitch. Quinn cringed and shifted her focus back to running. Santana could come later. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm writing a new Beca/Chloe fic so if you're into that, look it up :))) If not, sorry for this annoying intrusion :P


	18. Chapter 18

It was very different now that they were in an exclusive relationship. Strange, bewildering and really scary, but beautiful, too - Quinn had never been in a serious relationship with a woman before, and had to admit that she'd been missing out. A lot. Or maybe Santana was just different. Special. 

...

Quinn padded around in the kitchen wearing only an oversized t-shirt. Her hair was frazzled and messy and she had small dark circles under her eyes from sleep deprivation - Santana was to blame for that - but even then she was absolutely  _glowing_ with happiness and Santana decided smugly that she'd probably succeeded in snagging the most beautiful person in the entire world. Santana ran in and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's slender waist. "So you  _can_ cook," She teased.

"Hey sleepyhead," Quinn smiled and twisted around to face Santana. “I figured eggs were a safe choice. You can't fuck up eggs. At least I  _think_ you can't..." She gulped a little and turned her attention back to the frying pan.   


Santana grinned and leaned over Quinn's shoulder, inspecting the eggs curiously. Quinn jiggled them a while more, then shut off the flame and slid them into two empty plates. One was slightly burnt and the other was still rather gooey, but the fact that nothing was in flames was probably a small feat in and of itself. Quinn beamed with pride as she handed the plates to Santana. "Whaddyou think?"

"Tolerable," Santana said, mischief twinkling in her eyes. Quinn swatted her on the butt and got the utensils out. They sat down and tucked in. “Fine, these are actually really good,” Santana admitted, shovelling another spoonful of egg into her mouth.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Quinn snapped, smiling good-naturedly. She picked up the newspapers and started flipping through them absentmindedly. Then she stopped at a page and turned pale. Santana watched her scan through the page, knowing instantly that something was wrong.

Santana looked at her worriedly. “What is it, Quinn?” 

“ _Shit._ ” Quinn bit her lip and closed her eyes. Santana frowned and took the papers from her. _The dynamic duo of New York Flash._ A picture of the both of Santana and Quinn walking out of the stadium together, hand-in-hand; a grainier one of the two of them at a restaurant together – Santana was whispering something into Quinn’s ear and Quinn’s smile – secretive, intimate, sexy – the fact that something was going on between them was unmistakeable. _We’ve noticed the explosive chemistry of the two talented – and beautiful – women on the pitch for quite some time now, but it seems that Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray, New York Flash’s poster girls this season, have chemistry off the pitch as well. They make an undeniably attractive pair, and we wish nothing but the best to these lovebirds. The fans we interviewed were overwhelmingly supportive, although some young gentlemen were understandably disappointed. “Well, I’m open to having a threesome,” said Mr Arthur Gene, a long-time fan of the New York Flash..._  

Santana chucked the newspaper aside and grimaced. “God. What fucking terrible journalism. You’d think this were a gossip rag, the way they go on about-”

“My parents are going to want to talk to me. To us.” Quinn said, cutting her off. She marched over to her phone and, as she had predicted, there had been a grand total of twelve missed calls from her parents – and some other texts from the rest of her teammates and friends congratulating her and demanding to know more. _I’m sorry,_ Laurie’s text said. _I hope you’re okay. Call me if you need to._ Vivian had also texted in, concerned but calm and lighthearted, as though she knew that Quinn was probably flipping the hell out right now. _Congrats, you numbskull. P.S. I_ _f you don’t turn up for training today, I’m going to assume your parents murdered you. I’ll file a police report for you if you want._

Before she could do anything else, her phone started vibrating and her mom's immaculately made-up face lit up the screen. Quinn picked up her phone with shaking fingers. “We’re coming by your house in five minutes.” Came her mom’s voice, tight and angry and slightly hurt. “Why didn’t you tell us anything?”

Quinn groaned and slapped a palm to her forehead. Deciding that she had absolutely nothing nice to say to either of her parents, Quinn hung up and turned to Santana. “ _Please_ try not to rile them up,” She was getting more and more worked up by the second. She paced anxiously around the house, a muscle in her jaw twitching.

Santana frowned. “I don’t understand. So the newspapers broke the news before you did. What’s the big deal?”

Quinn shook her head. “They- they’re _very_ conservative. They take their reputations very seriously and this-” She waved a tired hand at the newspaper lying on the table. “This is _not_ good.” She ran a hand through her hair and sat down.

Santana walked over and squeezed Quinn’s shoulders gently. Santana opened her mouth to say something - the doorbell rang - she gulped and closed it again. Quinn cursed and got up.

Mr. Fabray stormed in, brushing past his daughter with a murderous expression on his face. Mrs. Fabray came in looking frigid but comparatively calmer, although looks could be deceiving and Santana knew better than to underestimate a _Fabray_ woman. Although apart from the blonde hair and brown eyes, Santana was having some trouble spotting physical similarities - Mr. Fabray was a tall, thickset man who looked like the sneer on his face was probably permanent.

Quinn realized, heart sinking quickly, that they hadn’t had time to change out of their inappropriate clothes. She cringed. So there was no point denying that they were having sex. They both looked disdainful - actually, more like  _utterly_ _disgusted -_ andSantana wasn’t sure if they were disgusted at their state of undress, the fact that Quinn was gay, or the fact that all the sordid details of their relationship were splashed across the first page in the sports section of the newspaper. 

 _Not good_ was putting it lightly, Santana thought, moving nervously in front of her girlfriend in a touching – but ultimately futile attempt to shield her from her father’s wrath.


	19. Chapter 19

“This is _repulsive_ ,” Her father said finally, spitting the words out like they were poison in his mouth. “You take great pleasure in disgracing the Fabray name, don’t you?” 

Quinn stared coldly at him. “You kicked me out of your family three years ago, remember? _Your_ name has nothing to do with mine anymore.” His face turned an ugly, splotchy red and for one terrifying moment, Santana thought that he was actually going to reach out and strangle his own daughter.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out this way,” Santana said, slowly and deliberately, trying very hard not to throw herself at this man hell-bent on hurting someone she loved – even though he also happened to be her father. “But there’s nothing disgraceful about this. Your daughter and I have a very loving relationship and-” 

Quinn’s father rounded on her with a murderous gleam in his eyes. He looked almost _pleased,_ as though happy to have found someone he could actuallystrangle. “ _Nothing disgraceful?_ I come in here and I see my daughter _naked_ with a woman she is _clearly_ not married to – and not _ever_ going to marry because it’s fucking _illegal_ – and you have the _gall_ to tell me that there is nothing _disgraceful_ about it?” Ugly purple veins pulsed angrily in his neck.

There was a long, torturous silence. “You don’t have the right to come in here and tell me what to do or what not to do,” Quinn said, white-hot fury building up in her chest. “You gave up that right the moment you cast me out.”

Santana didn’t know anything about what had happened three years ago, but from the look Mr. Fabray had given Quinn when she brought this up earlier, Santana knew this would hurt – and she nothing less than to makethis man pay for what he had done to someone she loved. 

Quinn’s father sneered. “You want to know _why_ I cast her out? Let me tell you a little story.” His voice was low, silky, dangerous.

“ _Don’t you dare,_ ” Quinn said through gritted teeth. Her mother only stood there, silently, as this unfolded before her. Mr. Fabray ignored his daughter and ploughed on.

“At age sixteen, she got pregnant with some punk’s bastard child-”

Quinn lunged at her father. “Don’t call her that!” Santana jumped in and dragged her away. She wrapped her hands around her and held her tight. Quinn collapsed silently against Santana, exhausted and trembling.

“Well, at least you won’t be getting knocked up again any time soon,” Mr. Fabray leered. Santana frowned, slightly confused, slightly hurt – Quinn had a _baby_ and hadn’t even told her? They were going to have a talk about sharing shit with each other, but that could come later. Right now Santana was too busy getting angry at Quinn’s father. Santana tightened her grip on Quinn, but the other woman did not react. Mrs. Fabray, with a telltale shine of moisture in her eyes, touched her husband’s elbow.

“Let’s go,” she croaked. Mr. Fabray gave the both of them one last dirty look and opened his mouth.

“Don’t bother,” Quinn said tiredly. “You can’t disown me twice.”

Mr. Fabray spluttered in rage and turned pink, but did not protest when his wife shoved him out of the door. Santana shut the door behind them and enveloped Quinn in a tight hug. Quinn sobbed into Santana’s chest until she’d lost her voice completely.

...

They’d retreated to the living room sofa, where they had shared their first meal together. Quinn was sitting in the V of Santana’s legs, leaning back so that her head fitted snuggly on Santana’s right shoulder. Santana’s arms clung tightly around her waist.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about...Beth?” Quinn asked hoarsely, still hiccupping. “Aren’t you mad at me for keeping her from you?”

“Why did you?” Santana asked, running her hand down Quinn’s slightly sweaty hair. 

Quinn twisted round to face Santana. “Be – Because I thought you’d freak out. You know, that I had a baby. And I didn’t want to chase you away before – before we even had a shot at...” She turned away, voice shaking. “Santana, I trust you. With all my heart. It’s just – everything is so new, and so wonderful and so perfect. I didn’t want to ruin anything, you know?”

Santana sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around Quinn. “It _is_ wonderful, Fabray. Being with you is wonderful. But it doesn’t have to be perfect. We can fuck up sometimes, we can argue – that’s normal. Because whatever it is – we’ll work it out. Together. And we can’t do that unless we talk about things. Okay?” 

“Okay.” Quinn nodded, then apologized. “She’s turning eight this year,” She said quietly. “She has my eyes, his mouth, my pride and his recklessness... But she’s not mine – not ours – anymore. We gave her away.” Her eyes flashed with pain. “Sometimes I wonder if I could’ve – should’ve _kept_ her. I had a choice, didn’t I? After all-”

“Shh,” Santana scolded, running her palms lightly across Quinn’s stomach. “Don’t do that to yourself,” Quinn obeyed, falling silent. She rested her head back on Santana’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, before Santana blurted out the three words she had waited so long – too long – to say.

She felt Quinn gasp and tense up. But Santana felt no fear, no terror – whatever happened next, she would have no regrets. Because she _did_ love this wonderful woman tucked so perfectly into her arms – and she would never, _ever_ regret that. Quinn turned around slowly, tears falling down her cheeks once again. She looked hauntingly, achingly beautiful then – and Santana wanted nothing but to keep her warm and safe in her arms forever. “I love you too,” Quinn whispered.

They kissed, and in that instant, everything fell back into place. All the chaos and ugliness of the past few hours faded away and in its place came a calm, beautiful peace. It was a strong kiss, passionate, fierce, but gentle too, and hopeful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're coming to the end of the story, and it's been an amazing journey for me - it's been really incredible writing this story and thank you guys so much for reading it and leaving comments and kudos because they really mean the world to me. 
> 
> I'm toying with the idea of writing a sequel or maybe some one-shots; if you have anything you want me to write about, any ideas or prompts etc. please share them with me, they'll be really helpful :) I'd also love to have overall comments for the story, what you thought about it, what you liked or wish I'd done better and stuff like that :)


	20. Chapter 20

A long time passed while Quinn lay snuggled up against Santana, both of them silent and content with just enjoying the stillness of the afternoon after the noisy and chaotic events of the day. Santana traced circles on Quinn’s stomach absentmindedly, leaning comfortably against the edge of the sofa. “Should we get up and go for training?” She asked softly, well aware that they were already thirty minutes late. 

“No,” Quinn said. “If you’re going to touch me, at least do it properly,” she murmured, smirking slightly as Santana’s hand paused over her belly button, as though aware for the first time that it was in direct contact with smooth skin. 

“Sorry,” Santana laughed, taking her hand away. 

“Don’t play dumb, Lopez,” Quinn grinned. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Santana purred. “What do you mean.” 

Quinn leaned in and whispered something into the other woman’s ear. Santana guffawed, feeling the familiar sensation of blood pooling between her legs. They were both aroused, but comfortably so, as though both knew that they had all afternoon – and perhaps many more afternoons after this one – in each other’s arms. Santana smiled lovingly at this wondrous woman in front of her and marveled, not for the first time in her life, how she had gotten so damn lucky. 

...

The next day, they were greeted by a crowd of photographers and journalists at the entrance of the training premises. “Jesus Christ, people,” Santana said, scowling. “Don’t you have better things to do? Something about gentrification or janitor unions or Obama’s new healthcare reforms or whatever.” 

This got everyone shouting at once. A small, wiry reporter who fancied himself rather witty yelled, “Or maybe same-sex marriage!” He shoved a microphone at Santana. “So! Tell us about your relationship!” The other reporters, not to be outcompeted, clamored to stick their own microphones at the two of them, rattling off a list of other equally obnoxious questions. “What made you switch to women? When did you know you were in love? What do your parents think about-” 

“Piss off,” Santana growled. She stepped forward protectively to shield Quinn from the glare of many cameras going off at once, shoving a microphone away as she did so. Quinn smiled and took a step forward as well, casually slipping her hand into Santana’s. They barged through the line of people together, unapologetically elbowing reporters aside on their way in. 

“Goddamn it,” Santana cursed, as they finally reached the relative safety of the pitch. “I hope your dad makes himself useful and murders them for us.”

Quinn laughs. 

“Eh, here come the lovebirds,” Vivian says, jogging over from the sidelines with Laurie. She punches Quinn on the forearm. “You’re alive,” She says. “Anyone give you any trouble?”

Quinn shakes her head, grinning. “Bloody reporters nearly stampeded us outside. You’d think they never heard of teammates dating before, the way they carry on like this.” 

Vivian nudged Santana. “Dating.” 

Santana nudged her back, grinning. “Dating,” She agreed. 

Laurie rolls her eyes. “To think yall ended up hating each other,” She scoffs. The rest of the team spots them there and runs over, thumping Santana and Quinn on their backs heartily. Yolanda leaps on top of Quinn to muffled cries of, “Oi, get off her, that’s Santana’s job!” 

Coach Johnson bustles over and sends the rest of the team packing with a brusque, “I thought I told yall to start warming up.” She narrowed her eyes at the two of them. “I don’t care what the hell is going on between you two – unless you’re in labor or dying, I expect you to be here on the pitch at three on the dot.” She glared at the both of them sternly. Despite their best efforts, neither Santana nor Quinn succeeded in summoning an appropriate level of remorse for the occasion, which probably had something to do with the memory of what they’d done on the couch instead of going to training. Coach must’ve guessed what was going through their minds, because she wrinkles her nose and snaps, “Spare me the gory details.”

“We didn’t say anything,” Santana protested. 

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Coach Johnson says grumpily, although her lips twitch involuntarily as though she’s trying and failing to keep the smile off her face. “Don’t you dare try anything funny, you hear me? I never want a repeat of those few months – everything between you stays off the pitch.” She paused, then changed her mind. “Actually, the good chemistry thing can stay. But nothing else!” 

Quinn and Santana nod obediently. 

“And stop being so fucking cute,” Coach Johnson snapped. “I look at the two of you and bile comes up my throat.” 

Quinn and Santana exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. “You’re just jealous,” Santana said brazenly. 

“You’re getting far too cocky for my liking, Lopez,” Coach Johnson flicked her gaze to Quinn, a smile playing on her lips. “For goodness sake, Fabray – keep her in check or I will.” 

Quinn shoots Santana a mischievous look. “No problem, coach,” She says sweetly. 

Santana tingles. Tonight was going to be...interesting. And tomorrow night, and all the nights after. Thinking about the future ahead, with Quinn, Santana can’t help but feel a shiver of excitement go down her spine. She grins and raises an eyebrow at her girlfriend. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Fabray.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for accompanying me and supporting me through this journey. I couldn't have done it without the occasional comment/review :) Do let me know what you thought of the story or the ending - I'm still tweaking it a little, but I wanted to post it first 'cause the story had been going way too long without a proper ending. Cheers guys, I love y'all.


End file.
